


Seal Our Fate

by CMBaggs



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMBaggs/pseuds/CMBaggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Satisfaction eludes the new King of Asgard, until Loki awakens to inexplicably find himself back on the day of Thor's ill-fated coronation. Time Travel, sort of. Set after Dark World. Eventual Lokane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Prompt #50 from the good folks at Magic-n-Science on Tumblr. You should pay them (and their delicious prompt buffet) a visit.
> 
> Okay, so this isn’t filling the prompt *exactly* to the letter. For one, I’ve never watched the movie (Peggy Sue Got Married – 1986) in question, but I did some research and the concept intrigued me all the same.
> 
> This is how I see it all playing out. The goal being to change the situation while maintaining the integrity of the characters as they’ve all been portrayed thus far. That being said, I’ll be using the Marvel Cinematic Universe as my main reference (deleted scenes included because they are awesome), with some inspiration drawn from Norse traditions.
> 
> A special thanks to my ever patient husband who deals with my caprices and acts as my “smart-reader” in good times and bad. Love you, handsome.
> 
> Anyways, hope you all enjoy.

Justice. Reclamation, being a more appropriate term, _should_ taste sweeter. It _ought_ to smack of honeyed victory. Particularly on the tongue of a usurped king. Instead, it turned to ash in his mouth. Fulfillment continued to elude him.

Satisfaction remained outside of his nature.

Seated on the golden throne Loki never wanted prior to his first ascension, it grew into an irksome realization. To never be satisfied, akin to an impossible void that demanded to be filled all the same. How does one quell implacable desire when the remedy cannot be named? Longing may as well be oblivion.

The Lady Sif came before “him”, brisk strides eating the expanse of the throne room, the late sun and myriad columns casting long shadows across etched stone floors. Her silver armor carried scuffs from her little sojourn to Midguard. She dropped to one knee, fist over her heart, dark glossy head bowed over her raised knee.

Three years past she reluctantly saluted him, the last of the vaunted four to kneel. He held Gungnir then too, wearing his own skin, his own colours. Sif questioned every word from his lips, doubted every course he chose. The quiet way in which he ascended the high seat did not help matters, perhaps. Poetic that she followed his decrees so blindly now. For little reason other than he wore a white beard and an eye patch.

 “Your will is done, Allfather,” Lady Sif said. Her eyes lifted to meet his without raising her head. “The prisoner has been returned to the dungeons and the security increased to your specifications.”

 “Asgard thanks you, Lady Sif,” ‘Odin’ said. He measured his tone carefully, balancing a touch of gratitude with gruff certainty and immeasurable expectation. “You are dismissed. Please, enjoy your well-earned rest.”

Sif bowed her head lower before rising. With a crisp turn on her heel she departed the way she entered, her stride no less determined. Her dedication to Asgard made her invaluable. Loki loathed sacrificing his pieces.

He took dinner alone in Odin’s chambers, dreading the prospect of small talk in the banquet hall. Of hearing another single condolence for the loss of a wife and a son and an heir. When would the sycophants grow tired of their precious sentiment? Their platitudes would never resurrect the Queen. They certainly did not care for the dead son.

When they spoke of Thor, however… a measure of hope lingered there. Perhaps, when he tired of his pet mortal, he would return to the Realm Eternal. Time would wear her down, steady as sand on stone, stripping away her youth and beauty and vigor. Oh how they hoped he would return. Even the Realm Eternal desired change.

Once the servants cleared away the meal Loki relaxed, though he still did not dare shed Odin’s coil.  

Loki looked at the bed that once belonged to Odin, choosing instead to sink into a cushioned chair out on the balcony, legs sprawled out before him. Drawing his index finger across his upper lip he stared out over the Realm Eternal.

He considered his next move.

* * *

 

With a languid stretch he stirred. Golden light flooded the bed, warming the black and emerald linens. His bed. His chambers…

Loki jolted awake, sitting up, trying to recall when he moved from Odin’s balcony to… here. He could not.

The sheets were still fresh, smelling of lavender oils and the birch drying racks. A green robe of soft goats’ wool hung over a carved chair next to the bed. He shrugged it on and cinched it closed. Loki reveled in the comfort of the soft silky threads, the luxury of something mother made just for him, all green and gold and black.

He plucked a pear from the porcelain bowl of fruit, perched on the bed side table. It tasted fresh enough, sweet and sandy on his tongue. He moved into the adjoining room of the suite. His books still sat on their shelves, no dust having been allowed to gather. Quills stood at attention on the large carved wooden desk. His grimoire sat splayed open, a pile of fresh parchment stacked at its side. Loki went to the desk, setting his armillary sphere to motion with a spark as he passed it on its pedestal, its golden rings catching the sunlight as it hummed to life in perpetual motion.

His grimoire, a leather and hammered silk bound affair crafted by Vanir hands, remained open to the last notes he etched. Dated three years ago. He flicked back through a few of the soft vellum pages.

All as though he never left. Truly, mother had been hopeful.

He ran a hand through his hair as an unwelcome heaviness tightened in his chest. Concern pooled in his gut when he came to the end of the curling strands at the nape of his neck. No. No this was wrong. All wrong. His hair, for one, should be much longer.

Then, the chamber doors opened, the click like a gunshot.

A servant girl entered with a smile, dropping into a low courtesy, fist over her heart. “My prince,” she said, not the least bit surprised to see him. “It is good that you are awake.”

“I…,” Loki stammered. He turned his hands over, from palm to backs, over and over, testing for certain that he wore no disguise. She wandered deeper into his quarters, into the bed chamber. He followed, watching with muted disquiet. The maid set to straightening the sheets and blankets of his bed, oblivious to his distress, pulling the embroidered covers taught. She arranged the silken green and ebony pillows against the carved headboard with care, humming a children’s tune of spring. Like nothing could be strange about discovering the dead and disgraced prince. Rather, she moved through her tasks, and about him, with the certainty of ingrained routine.

“Prince Loki?” she asked, and he looked at her face. She stilled, a green and gold tunic draped over her arm. “Are you well, your highness?”

“Yes,” he finally managed. She collected another piece of clothing from the foot of the large bed, his leather overcoat. This felt familiar. Her voice, the neatness of her blond braid, her eyes that reminded him of a mossy log, her efficient yet considerate mannerism… “Torfa?”

She smiled, a small, sedate smile. Even his chamber maid remained unchanged all this time. Poor girl.

“The Queen bid I make certain…”

“The Queen?” he asked, advancing toward her. He angled her away from the safety of the doorway, menace increasing with each smooth step. The anger wound its way to his voice. “Do you think yourself clever?”

The girl’s eyes widened as she shrank away from him, matching him step for step until her lower back met the rim of a celestial globe. The treasured item tipped precariously. Until Torfa shot out a hand to steady it. Meticulous in her duties, even in terror.

“I beg your pardon, my prince. I know not how I have displeased you.”

Her fear rang true. Honesty ran rampant across her thin face, from the white of her eyes, to the hammering of her heart that could be read in the thrumming pulse point of her slim throat. The odor of her distress. An alarm sounded within, warning him to mind his tongue and bridle his rage, for a few moments more at very least. He drew back a step, gathering his full height.

Loki spoke slow, choosing his question carefully, “What, exactly, did my mother task you with, Torfa?”

“That you are ready for Prince Thor’s Coronation.'


	2. Stifle the Choice

Dreams, even when vivid, leave one with a primal sense of their ethereal wrongness. Some law of physics blatantly denied, or perhaps a recognized truth is twisted and the heart feels the lie. Centuries ago he found himself in a garden the visual texture of an oil painting. Surrounded by an insurgence of flowers in all colours and a handful of white bearded nisse. Their goats – who else could they belong to? - sat upright, enjoying chilled lingonsaft from their own horn cups. Loki could not see the liquid and yet he knew in that peculiar way one does in their own dream, that the goats enjoyed the tart sweetness of that cherished childhood drink. All while knowing – somehow- that he ran through his mother’s private garden. Even though it looked nothing, smelled nothing, _felt_ nothing like her garden.  Even though he denied the existence of nisse and their little red hats and their damn goats well before his 277th year. He knew, even in sleep.

This, if it could be called a dream, left Loki with no such comfort. His mouth felt dry as cotton. The scents on the air called home. The girl before him too… earnest.

“Thor’s coronation?” he asked. Torfa vigorously nodded. Too many questions perched on his lips. He swallowed them back down his throat and forced a tight smile. The tense aggression bled from his frame.  He ran a hand through his too short hair again and granted the girl a berth. Torfa remained wary, her gaze on him.

“It seems,” she said, “that I cannot keep pace with your jests this morning.” Her brows lifted, opening like a flower. She tested a smile.

The corner of his mouth twitched. No, considering the revelations she laid at his feet, they did remarkably well during this little exchange.

“This is all so exciting,” Torfa twittered. She slipped by him, laundry in hand. “Do you suppose Prince Thor will,…”

“Make a fine king?” Loki prompted, following her at a respectful pace. He spoke with just a hint of humor. The question Asgardians all asked while wanting but one single answer. He cocked his head to one side and managed a smile rather than a sneer.  “Come now, my dear. You cannot expect me to speak ill of my dear brother on his big day.”

She reddened.

“What hour is it?” he asked.

“Nearing the end of day mark, your highness” she answered. “The Queen bid you join her for the midday meal.”

 _That_ gave him pause. His mother. Alive. Well. He declined to visit with her, his first time through, for fear that she would sense his mischievous intent. It remained a real risk. 

Rage and justice and pride be damned. He lost her once. He would never deny Frigga again.

He smiled. “Then I best not keep her waiting.” 

Torfa brightened. “Yes, my prince.”

* * *

 

The midday meal was to be shared in her chambers. 

From the moment he passed through the threshold he wrapped himself in the gossamer of her essence. This familiar set of chambers where he learned the art of seidhr. Before his wide, elated eyes mother conjured gilded butterflies and emerald doves to soothe his tempers. Then he graduated to plucking at the threads of her beautiful, numinous weavings under her watchful eyes. She shared her notes, her wisdom. Her heart. He learned to lace the magic himself, how to see the threads and their relationships to all things.

Frigga stood on the sun soaked balcony, framed by rosy white blossoms. Slender hands rested on the carved stone bannister, staring out over the churning waters of the bay, the waves of her flaxen hair piled atop her head like spools of burnished gold. A crystal collar glittered from clavicle to chin and lengths of heavy yellow and ivory satin flowed around her elegant frame. No, not quite yellow. More green. Fresh leaves shot through with sunlight, bursting with promise.

Let Thor have her trust.

Mother turned and smiled, genuine. Loki exhaled an unconsciously detained breath. He held his mouth in a tight line, though his feet moved forward all the same toward a treasure once lost. His arms found her tangible and whole. She hummed and embraced him, held him still. He did not want to let go.

By the Norns, let this be more than a dream.

She withdrew slightly, remaining in the circle of his arms, her hands resting on his cheeks. Her palms so warm. Her smile widened though her brow creased with concern. Those blue eyes searched every inch of his face. She tilted her head to the side.

“Are you alright?” she asked, eyes narrowing with scrutiny.

He blinked once and nodded. He could not look away.

“You have not greeted me thus in ages.”

“I’ve been a fool,” he said. Even beneath the weight of so small a truth his voice threatened to crack. 

Mother’s smile widened into a grin, the apples of her cheeks brightening. “I hope you intend to make it habit.”

Loki released her reluctantly so she could wrap her arms around one of his own, settling against his side.

“So!” she began, bright and winsome. “Am I to assume that you did not celebrate as vigorously as some?”

“Have I ever been as vigorous as my illustrious brother?”

Mother’s lips twisted playfully and conceded with a graceful nod. “You are night and day, much to my delight. Your brother has ever been one to enjoy a good celebration.”

“Prematurely perhaps. A testament to his overconfidence, surely.”

“If memory serves well,” she quipped, leading him back into her chambers, “you followed him into a good number of his follies.” 

They moved toward a round table set with light fare; cold marinated salmon, fresh baked bread and fruit to hold them until the feast. Two crystal decanters, one of chilled spring water, the other of golden Alfheim wine stood ready with two goblets.

“Someone had to bring him home,” Loki said. He pulled out a seat for her. He sat next to her. Across seemed too formal now. Too far.

Mother laughed, ringing clear in the airy chamber. She reached out and clasped his hand, giving it a brief but firm squeeze. “You’ve caused your own brand of mischief over the centuries and Thor has ever been there to speak in your defense. When you were caught, that is.”

“Harmless fun, I assure you.” He poured them each a sampling of the wine.

“I doubt Lady Sif agrees, dear heart.”

 “Honestly, you shoulder some of the blame.” He tasted the fish first, too fresh, the peppery tang too fine to be dismissed a dream.

“Oh?”

He smiled brightly. “You taught me the best tricks.”

Mother hid mirth behind pursed lips, moving some sliced pear to her plate with deliberate poise, determined not to grant him a victory. Loki watched patiently. Lying and indifference were not her strengths.  She hummed as the smile broke through.

“Have faith in him,” she said, directing the conversation to her own ends. “All he will need is some advice, cautions for temperance. He needs _you_.”

Ah. Clever, perceptive mother.

“Truly?” Loki did not celebrate the idea of Thor surviving the throne on the lifeblood of his advice. “Pulling from my own vast experience, Thor listens to no one.”

“He listens to you.”

“Hm.” He thought of his dull witted brother on a shattered tower, chaos churning round them. A hurricane of glorious pandemonium, and Thor clinging to the past despite every threat and insult. The look of sheer desperation, of hope, in those damn blue eyes, Thor imploring for him to call off war. To fight at his side once more. Deep, in the pits of his heart, Loki felt the stirring of temptation. He chased away the sentiment with the thrust of a punching dagger.

“He does,” she insisted, beseeching with those same earnest blue eyes. “He loves you, trusts you. He does not listen always, but often enough.” Though her lips hinted at a smile, he noticed other things now too. Things he ignored three years ago. The creases of her brow, the worry etched around her gentle eyes. Gravity threatened the corners of her mouth.

“I know,” he conceded. “It’s hard to see at times, but… I know.”

She took a relieved breath and smiled. The few moments passed, a comfortable silence settling between them. Guilt and relief warred within and eclipsed his desire to eat. He watched her, each familiar mannerism, committing them to memory. Mother took a leisurely sip of her wine. She set down the goblet, and, pinching the stem between graceful fingers, she pinned him with an intent gaze.

“Fate is sealed by _choices_ , dear heart.”

  

* * *

 

Smoke gathered in the rafters of the mead hall, a mixture of wood and pipe. Firelight danced across the walls, the brightness shuttered down by the press of bodies seeking to bask in the glow of their golden prince. Pipes and drums fought the rumble of conversational boasting for dominion over sound. Thor and his companions drank with voracity.

“Another,” Thor boomed, hurling a near empty tankard to the stone floor. The crowd cheered with him, guffaws ringing out over the shattering of earthenware mugs and carved horn cups.

“A toast to our future king!” someone shouted from the back of the throng. More swilling. More crashing. More splashing. The air reeked of honeyed liquor, sweat and smoke. The floor became sticky beneath his boots.

Loki returned to the palace in the murky hours before dawn.

Thor never stopped.

“Another!”

The flames of the great open fire pit roared to life.

Even in the antechamber of the Hall of Asgard, the future King announced his presence with the clatter of a bone goblet. Embers hissed and skittered across the hallowed marble floors, narrowly missing the rows of decorative cloth of gold drapes that ran from floor to ceiling. Decency would demand to at very least drain a cup before throwing it. Never mind tossing accelerant onto an open flame.

Validation increased in the glaring light of re-experience.

Loki stepped from behind the golden draperies. Each languorous step measured until he came to stand beside Thor. Again. Trussed up in armor that matched Thor and Odin, the illusion of the good little second son.

“Nervous, brother?”

Thor laughed, casting Loki a supercilious smile. “Have you ever known me to be nervous?”

Yes.

Loki remembered. How the twisting natural passages of the Nornkeep quickly led them lost. They heard the shuffling of pursuit echoing off the supernaturally worked stone, bouncing at their heels. 

“This is the wrong way,” Loki whispered, perhaps too harshly. He understood the danger they found themselves in, hunted by equals.

“Silence,” Thor commanded. He led the way despite his ignorance, as was his right. He grew steadily agitated. 

Nervousness began dancing close to fear.

“Thor, I’m certain we’ve passed here before. I can sense the - .”

Loki found himself slammed against the natural stone wall, Thor’s paw over his mouth, crushing his jaw. Powdered stone caked brass and verdant velvet. Rock dust, dry and suffocating, drifted into his nostrils.

Right then. Silence.

Loki could render himself invisible. He could abandon Thor to blunder about. He could leave his brother to reap the rewards of brash folly.

He stayed. Distorted their trail. Muffled their sounds. Shrouded their passage. Followed and manipulated the threads. He found the path. They fought their way out. Together. Thor slaughtered five for every warrior that Loki felled. Conjured shards and daggers, no matter how efficient, could not match the sheer indiscriminant devastation of Mjolnir.

Asgard cared little for efficient. They thirsted for grand tales. Even though other Aesir called Nornheim home, Thor boasted a hundred kills. The people loved the story all the more.

“No,” Loki said, staring forward. “I suppose not.”

A portly thrall brought forth the commanded wine, bowing a dark, curly head over the proffered tray of refreshment. Thor tossed the contents into his gullet. With no time for another he set the vessel back to the try with no theatrics.

One of the family’s attendants approached with the crown prince’s winged helm, holding it up in deference, eyes cast to the ground. Thor casually took the item so solemnly offered. He jounced the symbol of his station, testing its weight, indeed nervous. Refreshing and difficult to watch at once.

 “Oh… Nice feathers.”

Thor chuckled under his breath and cast Loki a playful look of warning.

“You don’t really want to start this again,” Thor asked turning to face Loki with a lopsided grin. His eyes flicked up to the sweeping horns of Loki’s own helm. “Do you, cow?”

Loki brought a hand to his chest in mockery of a wounded heart. “I was being sincere.”

“You are incapable of sincerity,” Thor parried.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Lies were best wrapped in a measure of truth. Medicine with honey.

“I’ve looked forward to this day as long as you have,” Loki said. He met Thor’s gaze, held it, delivering each line for what it was and nothing more. Without a shred of compunction. “My brother. My friend. Sometimes I’m envious, but never doubt that I love you.”

Loki hated him, too. Still. Hated how easily they forgave him on the basis of an easy grin and boyish charm. Thor could crush a skull then laugh about it, and the carnival of fools waiting in the Hall would laugh with him.

Thor reached out for Loki, palming the side of his helm, gripping the back of his neck. He saw Thor handle his favorite hound in this manner.

“Thank you,” Thor said.

Still too uncomfortable. “Now give us a kiss,” Loki said. He grinned. Thor shoved him away and pointed at his face in a show of warning.

“Stop it!”

They laughed together. This whole re-experience shifted from pleasurable to vexing to affirming in turns.

“Now, really,” Thor spoke again, his voice more subdued. “How do I look?”

Thor’s eyes were deep, rippling pools. Uncertainty settled about him like frost, noiseless and steady. Yes, mother. There were times that Thor listened, when he wanted to hear. Times like this. Loki loved this Thor.

Truth passed through his lips with a struggle.

“Like a king.”

* * *

 

Loki escorted his mother down the Hall of Asgard’s marble expanse, her smooth fingers alighted in his hand. She seemed to glide across the reflective surface. The masses gathered under the soaring arches of the colossal structure, pressing in to watch the Allfather proclaim the succession of his heir to the Nine Realms of Yggdrasil.

They reached the dais and bowed to the Allfather, imposing in his full regalia, the mighty spear Gungnir in his grasp. Huginn and Muninn, black as onyx and all seeing, perched atop the massive golden throne observing the pomp and quietly preening.

Loki and Frigga found their places on the steps of the dais. Arrayed with Sif and the Warriors Three. Behind his mother and higher than Sif, but lower than Hogun. Loki released the slight in favor of strategy.

He could abandon the deal, if it could be called such. The terms slanted entirely in his favor. It would spare the lives of several wretched creatures, and he could play the part Odin wrote for him – wherever that lead. The prospect of avoiding the Fall, and all that followed, provided a certain temptation.

Only, Asgard would have Thor as its King.

This Thor.

He could be trapped in this time with _this_ Thor. Being forced to kneel to this pre-Foster boor who assumed deception and negotiation to be elective pursuits in the portfolio of a king’s skill set. This Thor who could plunge Asgard into war at a mere whisper of imagined slights.

Thor marched towards the dais a conquering hero, hefting Mjolnir in the air, the crowds cheering and chanting his name. Tall, shining and regal. It made the notion of facing Thanos again tempting. Almost. Whatever strange brand of magic Jane Foster worked, it seemed to have the same effect on Thor’s arrogance as a chisel to stone.

Thor finally came to the bottom steps of the great throne and took a knee. He grinned at Sif. Winked at mother.

She spoke of choices. What other choice did he have? No. Loki would resubmit his little coronation gift a thousand times over if it halted Thor’s climb to the throne. Loki closed his eyes. Focused. Located the right strands. Plucked them, just so, and opened the path for his special guests.

Odin droned on. Thor answered with the simple words that were expected, loud and confident. They rang more like a threat than a promise.

“Thor Odinson, I now proclaim you…” The Allfather paused at that most perfect moment and Loki again enjoyed the confusion rippling across Thor’s face at this withheld triumph. Again. See how it tastes, brother. Whispered confusion began to ripple through the crowd then, realization coming clear that no, this is not a pause for dramatic effect. Odin, despite appearances, scoffed at spectacle and illusions.

The ravens _quorked_ a moment before the Allfather spoke.

“Frost Giants.”


	3. Valley of Doubt

For the price of two lives, Loki purchased a reprieve for Asgard.

  
Hard rime coated the guards’ corpses, congealing the blood and torn flesh. One, younger than Loki, lay cleaved from left clavicle to right hip. He noted, clinically, the absent urge to vomit, this time, and forced his attention to the matching red capes before him.

Thor paced behind Odin, Mjolnir clasped at the ready, hoping for a chance to use it. He did not filter his thoughts. He spoke like he fought. “The jotnar must pay for what they've done!”

“They have paid, with their lives,” Odin said. Ash and shards of charred flesh littered the worked stone floors; all that remained of the intruders. The Allfather inspected the relic, glowing cold and cerulean upon its stone pedestal. “The Destroyer did its work, the Casket is safe and all is well.”

“All is well?” Thor parroted. “They broke into the weapons vault. If the Frost Giants had stolen even one of these relics…”

“They didn't,” Odin said flatly.

“Well, I want to know why...”

“I have a truce with Laufey,” the Allfather said, a warning veiled in that calm tone. No doubt he intended to explain to his zealous son how such delicate situations are handled in a peace between kings. Thor interrupted.

“He just broke your truce! They know you are vulnerable.”

Odin turned to regard his son. “What action would you take?”

Loki shifted his weight. Since he could remember he listened with rapt attention to every scrap of a lesson Odin deigned to share. He knew the answer to this simple riddle. Furthermore, he comprehended that a king must set aside pride, vanity, even honor, to rule well. That caution ought not to be confused as cowardice. Sacrifices need be made and that morality offered no shelter from this harsh truth.

“March into Jotunheim as you once did,” Thor said, blundering ahead heedless of the example his own father tried to set. A wise king never seeks war. “Teach them a lesson. Break their spirits so they'll never dare try to cross our borders again.”

Odin’s brows fell. “You're thinking only as a warrior.”

“This was an act of war.”

“It was the act of but a few. Doomed to fail.”

Thor waved a hand at the sacrificed guards. “Look how far they got!”

“We will find the breach in our defenses and it will be sealed.”

Loki clasped his hands before him. Took a long deep breath. He bolstered the seal further, reinforced the seams. Triple stitched.

“As King of Asgard ...”

“But you're not king!” Odin boomed. Thor fell silent. The Allfather added, more softly: “...Not yet.”

Thor stared at Odin for a long moment, his brow creasing with concentration. As if willing the Allfather to see his way. He lacked the skill. After an embarrassing length of time Thor turned away, storming through the great brass doors with a bang.

Loki followed Odin back to the Palace. Again, the Allfather said nothing.  
 

* * *

  
The cancellation set the Queen’s Hall into a flurry of activity that mirrored the chasing of Loki’s own thoughts. The attendants cleared away place settings and food from long tables. The head table at the top of the dais already stripped of center pieces and fare. The late afternoon sun at his back glittered off the servants’ silver armour, off the dishes and goblets and the cloth of gold table runners. If only his musings could be made orderly like a stack of charger plates.

The second prince sat on the steps leading down to the recessed floor, dressed in casual clothes of leather and hammered velvet. Elbows resting on his knees, his body relaxed in a way that could not reach his mind. Now that Loki sat in position for the second phase he faltered. This ended in crushing failure and being thrown.

No. Not thrown.

He struggled to untwist those strands of memory, ascertaining which felt right - untainted. He let go. Letting go and trusting in the Ginnungagap to be his executioner. Falling, falling, falling. Deafening silence and a cold so utterly complete that even his physiology would not protect him from the truth that cold can burn. Falling until he stretched and pressed into nothing recognizable. Devastating pain second only to betrayal. He’ll wake on a desolate floating slab of rock. He mistook it for Helheim then, only to discover something infinitely… worse.

When did the plan fall to ruin? In Jotunheim? His world crumbled there for certain, and the plan with it. Breaking apart when variables unaccounted for, such as an identity crisis and banished brothers and unexpected kingships, cluttered his intent.

Loki’s concentration snapped with a roar, the movement of an entire ironwood table, carved to resemble a drekar, getting upended towards him with a clatter of cups and platters. He stared impassively at the food. Smashed gourds and cheese and crushed bread. The seas of wine and mead. The shattered ceramics and fractured crystal. The tall birch branch center pieces scattered. Thor lorded over his expression of anger. Two attendants scrambled to find their feet, tossed to the ground during Thor’s trajectory towards the table. They looked to one another, eyes wide but remaining prudently mute. They avoided looking at Thor and returned to their tasks without a word.

“Redecorating are we?” Lady Sif asked, a cant to her voice. She and the Warriors Three stood in the gold-plated portal of the second set of doors. They had the gall to look surprised. As though they never saw such a display before in all their years with their vaunted commander.

Volstagg gasped. “What’s this?”

“I told you they’d cancel it…” Hogun muttered.

“We thought you were just being your normal cheery self!” Fandral retorted.

Volstagg wandered in, to the edge of the disaster. “All this food,” he lamented, gesturing helplessly to the casualties. His voice dripped with sincere sorrow. “It’s horrendous. It’s just… cast to the ground… It… it breaks the heart.”

Thor dropped down next to Loki, so close that their thighs touched. Loki could smell the distinct mixture of smoky sweat, cloves and cloying sweetness wafting from his brother. The air tingled with charged rage, setting the seidhr trembling round them like snared webs. Loki shifted away an inch.

“This was to be my day of triumph,” Thor grumbled. Petulant.

“It will come,” Loki said, softly, “in time.” He swallowed down words. They tumbled forward as if compelled by something greater than gravity. He needed more time to weigh the potential outcomes. They were silent for several moments. Sif picked her way toward the princes. Volstagg searched for anything morsels to salvage. Fandral and Hogun spoke softly. The blond rogue stroked his mustache absently.

“If they dared attack Asgard once, what stops them from doing so again?” Thor asked. His voice rumbled, Loki’s words falling from his lips without prompt. “Next time will be with an army!”

“What?” Loki stared into Thor’s face. These were supposed to be his lines. He could see the gears turning all on their own behind Thor’s darkening scowl. “There is nothing you can do without defying father.”

Thor’s jaw clenched, for but a moment. Then with the dawn of a plan he rose to his feet, fervent. “There’s only one way to ensure the safety of our borders.”

“Thor,” Loki said slow and even. The options slipped away, sand in his fingers. “It is madness.”

“Madness?” Volstagg demanded, pausing in his scavenging. His heavy red brows lifted with interest. Sif, at his side, tensed. “What sort of madness?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Loki stated. “Thor has merely lost his wits!”

“I assure you, brother, I have never seen things more clearly,” Thor shot back. He cast a glare of warning Loki’s way. A short pause. Then he turned his attention to Sif and the Warriors. “We’re going to Jotunheim.”

So much for free will.

“What?” Fandral said, an incredulous chuff escaping his lips. He did not smile.

Sif stepped forward, shaking her head. Her eyes wide and white. “Thor of all the laws of Asgard this is the one you must not break.”

“This isn’t like a journey to Midgard,” Fandral added, speaking in a rush. “Where you summon a little lightning and thunder and the mortals think you a god! This is Jotunheim!”

“If the Frost Giants don’t kill you,” Volstagg said, heaping bread and cheese atop a repurposed platter, “your father will.”

“My father fought his way into Jotunheim. Defeated their armies and took their Casket. We will just be looking for answers.”

“It is forbidden,” Sif stated.

Thor laughed. “My friends, have you forgotten all that we’ve done together?”

Loki’s vision narrowed as Thor listed their vices. Fandral’s women. Hogun’s lust for glorious battle. Volstagg’s voracious appetite. Sif’s desperate desire to be recognized as a proper warrior of Asgard. They knew. They bloody well knew it to be a bad idea and yet they allowed themselves to be so easily swayed.

“My friends, trust me now! We must do this. You aren’t going to let my brother and me take all the glory, are you?”

A speech as rousing now as the first time he heard it. Loki bit his tongue. Looked at the passageway that would take him to his own chambers. There were theories on defeatism he longed to set to paper now. He could go and debate the concepts of fate and time and the illusion of freewill with mother. The company would be more agreeable, certainly. He could leave these five fools to die in the snowy wastes of his birth.

Would memory evaporate if the past changed? Would he even know it? Would time warped memories itch like a lost limb; the knowledge of what, exactly, they meant erased while leaving behind only the feelings they evoked and awareness that once they existed?  
Or would they instead tangle into a confusing, snagged heap of knots? Tampered, twisted, tainted memories did not erase the truth. He knew this. It did heighten the pull of baser desires. Augmented darker emotions.

So many variables. Too many threads to choose. The path to Jane Foster could lead Thor away from Asgard, but so to would his death on Jotunheim. This would be considerably quicker, and he avoided the Abyss for certain. That Thor would take Sif and the Fools Three with him added up into a delightful bonus. Maybe he could trick Heimdall into going too.

Best not get greedy this time round. Heimdall would slit his own throat, in time.

If such a trauma did not send Odin straight into an interminable sleep, Loki could think of nothing else that would.

“Loki?”

Thor spoke from behind, and Loki stiffened, casting a glance at the companions. The Warriors Three and Lady Sif remained silent. They all stared at him, waiting for his answer.

“Brother, you are coming with me, aren’t you…?”

Loki turned without rising, looked up over his shoulder to meet those imploring blue eyes that so resembled mother’s.

Why did Thor have to look at him like that?

A smile slipped into place. “Of course.”  
 

* * *

  
Loki trailed in Thor’s wake. Their planning, as it were, consisted of little more than Thor permitting Loki to find some warmer clothes. They waited in the stable yard for Thor’s companions.

Again, Loki discreetly warned the same guard of their foolish intentions. He did not bother telling the Aesir to be quicker about it.

They rode out together.

Heimdall greeted them, made a show of being imposing and stern. Thor did all the talking this time. Loki’s pride did not allow for walking knowingly into humiliation. The loyal gatekeeper indulged the Prince of Asgard in his choice of travel plans, contrary to the forbidden law set by the Allfather.  
 

* * *

  
The Bifrost deposited them on the same desolate cliff face as before, the runes scorched black into the ice around them. Volstagg lost his footing, teetering precariously close to the edge, the River Vimur roaring an icy threat at the bottom of the dark chasm.

Thor moved quickly, gripping Volstagg by the belt.

“Easy, Volstagg. Come on. Up!”

With an effort he pulled the heavy warrior forward and steadied him.

“This belt!” Volstagg said, gripping the great etched leather band. “This belt is now my lucky belt! I will never remove it! Even when bathing!”  
Fandral squinted. “You bath?”

The shattered ruins of Utgard loomed before the companions, the broken granite skeletons of once soaring architecture reaching toward the dark and flurried sky. Great chunks of ice cracked and fell from the decrepit columns and crashed to the paths below.

“We should not be here,” Hogun said, solemn as ever.

“Too late now,” Thor replied. He picked his way forward.

“Actually, it’s not,” Fandral said. He rested a hand on his silvery hilt and carried on in a cheerful tone. “We could turn right around, hop back to Asgard, and drink like your coronation went off perfectly. Could be nice. Think of the mead, the fires, and the women!”

Thor ignored what could be marked as Fandral’s wisest suggestion in the history of their misadventures. Reluctantly, the others followed like a pack of hounds.

“He's just got to swing his hammer...” Sif muttered, more kindly than warranted, pulling her deep fur lined hood further over her head. They trudged behind noble Thor, their long coats and billowing cloaks sweeping the ground. The cold winds howled and set the snow swirling about them. Volstagg shivered beneath his thick red beard. Fandral drew his fluffy cloak tighter around his shoulders.

Loki watched their left flank as Hogun scanned the shadows to the right of their position, akin to the trickster in strategic caution if nothing else.

Thor cast a glance over his shoulder. He smiled at Loki.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?”

Loki smirked. “Yes, the mighty Thor and his intrepid companions, adventuring again!”

“Adventuring?” Fandral asked. “Is that what we're doing?”

Thor chuffed a laugh. “What would you call it?”

“Folly,” Loki offered. “Suicide, perhaps?”

“Freezing,” Fandral said.

“Starving,” replied Volstagg.

“Whining,” Sif chimed.

“Then… how about a song to lift your spirits?”

A long, low groan escaped Hogun.

“If I have to listen to Volstagg's singing one more time,” Fandral stated. “I'll fall on my own sword!”

“Well,” Loki said, allowing a grin to spread across his face. “Now I'm on board.”

“Ooh, rhyming! Well done, Silvertongue!”

A clearing opened up amongst the ruins, a vast circular space of worked stone with raised ridges akin to jotnar ritual scarring. Perhaps a central plaza long ago. A grand structure of black granite and jade and crumbling ice stood across the way. It called to mind the Hall of Asgard.

“Where are they?” Sif asked.

“Hiding,” Thor supposed. “As cowards always do.”

Loki saw the faint movement among the long shadows. He cast a glance to Hogun. He noticed too. The Vanir warrior moved towards Thor to offer a warning when the jotun sentry stepped out from the shadows. Ten feet of solid blue muscle. A set of ruby eyes, glittering with menace, stared down at the Thunderer.

“What is your business here, Asgardians?”

“I speak only to your King. Not to his foot soldiers.”

This new voice crackled with a threat akin to lake ice breaking beneath ones feet. One misstep would plunge them into danger. They looked up to the source. Standing on a high balcony above them. A frost giant stood, tall and proud, carrying himself with a regal dignity that seemed almost unnatural for such a wretched beast.

“I am Laufey,” he said. “King of this Realm.”

“And I am—“

“We know who you are, Odinson. Why have you brought the stench of your blood onto my world?”

With the trickling of time more frost giants filtered into the plaza, surrounding the companions, and cutting off their escape path.

Thor did not notice. “I demand answers.”

“You "demand?"” Laufey echoed the brash words, rolling them over like a threat.

Thor blundered onward. A goat at a banquet table. “How did your people get into Asgard?”

“The house of Odin is full of traitors.”

Sif and the Three exchanged glances. The comment inspired further wariness.

“Do not dishonor my father's name with your lies,” Thor growled, the accusation serving only to make him further belligerent.

“Your father is a murderer and a thief,” Laufey snarled. “He stole what was ours, and left our world in ruins. We have the right to reclaim the Casket.”

“Not when you'd use it to make war against other Realms.”

Laufey laughed, an avalanche of scorn.

“And why have you come here?” he demanded. “To make peace? You long for battle. You crave it. I see you for what you are, Thor Odinson. Nothing but a boy, trying to prove himself a man.”

“This boy has grown tired of your mockery.”

Ah yes, his cue to spout futile lines. Loki stepped in next to Thor.

“Thor, stop and think. Look around you. We’re outnumbered...”

Thor’s jaw tightened. “Know your place, brother.”

“You never let me forget.”

“You should listen to his council,” Laufey said. “You know not what your actions would unleash. I do.” Laufey’s attention drifted for a moment to somewhere far off. “Now go. While I still allow it.”

“We will accept your most gracious offer,” Loki said. He gripped Thor’s arm tight. “Come on, brother.” He spoke with the gravelly commanding tone he discovered somewhere between his coronation and his coup, and forced Thor back a step. Loki turned him around. They walked away from the Jotun King.

The other companions relaxed, allowed relief to settle upon them.

Then the sentinel spoke. “Run back home, little princess.”

Fandral sighed, looking up the sky even as his shoulders slumped. They all heard Mjolnir drop to the end of its thong, thrumming in anticipation a split second before the swing.  
Loki whirled around and tried to grasp his foolish brother’s wrist. “No!”

The crack of frigid bone connecting with uru metal. The decisive rumbling crash of a jotun hitting once solid rock.

“Next?” Thor asked jovially of their powerful foes. Arrogant and foolhardy even in the face of such overwhelming numbers. Ice hardened along the jotnar’s chests and vitals, and extended off their arms into serrated blades six feet long.

Thor smashed two more in the face, killing them, before the giants descended upon the Asgardians by the dozen.

Even armed with pre experience specifically relevant to this battle, the combat remained frantic. Morning star, axe, rapier, sword and daggers are drawn and their feet began to move, each knowing their part of the dance. The sounds of Mjolnir, like cues from a choreographer. Tilt. Jump. Pivot. Step. Drop.

Hogun dodged an ice blade, swinging his morning star into the knee of a second jotun to cripple before bringing the ruthless weapon to connect with the softer stomach of another. Hogun brought down his weapon onto the defenseless face of the injured jotun clutching its knee.

A berserker leaped from Laufey’s balcony above. He set the ground trembling on his landing. The power carried through the frozen earth and raised up into a column of dirt, stone and frost that punched Hogun into the air. The vanir warrior landed on his back with a gasp.

Loki conjured his ammunition as he required from the water in the air, meshing with threads of seidhr and hardening to an edge sharp as asgardian steel and with a bite far more vicious. He let the daggers fly. Propelled by strength, momentum and magic, they zipped through armour and flesh. The berserker cried out, announcing his intended charge mere seconds before leaving Hogun to careen toward Loki’s position. The second son backed up to a crevice.

The mirrored image and transposition came as naturally to him as breathing now. The double disappeared as the monster stumbled through and over the cliff.

“Brutes always fall for that one….”

He slipped back into the chaos of battle, keeping his distance for the sake of his personal experiment.

Lady Sif set her double bladed staff to work, stabbing and slashing, taking out three jotnar before being brutally knocked back. They cared little that she was a lady. She preferred it that way. She recovered easily.

“Come on!” Loki heard Thor roar over the din of battle. “At least make it a challenge for me!”

Loki turned to see a berserker charging at the mighty Thor with a thundering pace. The huge jotun landed a fantastic punch, sending Thor back across the ice, his boots scrambling for purchase on a glassy portion of the surface. Thor grinned.

“Now that's more like it!”

A grunt pulled Loki’s attention to find Sif prone. A giant raised his weapon above her, prepared for the coup. Loki spun, released a missile, shearing through her attacker’s throat with a well-placed volley. The lady found her feet and brought her buckler to bear just in time to deflect a barrage of ice shards that came flying toward them.

“Don't let them touch you!” Volstagg shouted, clutching at a blackened arm. Right, the frost blight. The hefty warrior was quickly pressed. Volstagg swung his large blade in a great arc at a huge giant's chest, felling the beast. The warrior could not pull free his battle axe, however, ice freezing over the weapon and sticking it fast. Another jotun loomed over him, chuckled and then delivered a bone-breaking blow that forced Volstagg down to one knee.

Sif rushed forward, through the milling battle. Loki whipped daggers passed her, felling jotnar and granting her a clear path. In one quick move, she leapt up, using Volstagg’s own back as a stepping point, and plunged her own blade deep into the giant's chest.

Loki glanced behind him. Hogun and Fandral covered their backs.

“You really think your icicles are a match for Asgardian steel?” Fandral asked, lunging at a double bladed jotun. The giant batted Fandral’s rapier away. The sword tumbled through the air and landed with a clatter behind the beast’s back.

“Fair enough.”

The giant drew one blade back, bracing for a powerful swing. Fandral, slick as a salmon, dove between the giant’s legs, sliding on his knees, scrambling for his weapon. Loki launched a dagger, hitting the jotun in the pit under the raised arm as he turned on the rogue. The beast staggered back, bellowing with indignant rage just as Fandral retrieved his weapon and severed the giant’s spine with an expert thrust.

A surge of wind at his back, and a crackling. He turned to face the new threat only to be hit with a blast. Fandral shouted from behind him. Loki’s voice gave way to the inhaling of quick, ragged breathes. He looked down, saw the lances, - stalagmites really – piercing clean through his left shoulder, his chest, his stomach…

Loki saw crimson and thought of Thor’s cloak. He drew another shaky breath. His left lung surly failed him if the dreadful frothing in his chest indicated anything.

“That's… unfortunate,” he heard Volstagg say.

“How bad is it?”

“Just try not to bleed.”

His blood appeared beautifully red. Aesir red. Norn’s have mercy, this had to be both the worst injury of his life and the most affirming.

“Maybe Thor will agree to retreat now,” Fandral quipped.

“It should have been you,” Loki rasped.

Fandral laughed. “Good to see your tongue and foul humor are well, Odinson.” The rogue flashed a grim smile before whirling away to fight at Sif and Hogun’s side. Loki’s left arm disobeyed, hanging limp at his side. His right wrapped around Volstagg’s thick neck as the larger warrior worked to carefully pry Loki from the wicked tines of ice.

“Come on!”

As a sickening sensation of slipping free and a grave awareness of flowing overtook him, Loki felt the shock wave. It swept across the ground under their feet, through Volstagg’s arms.

There was a cracking of ice little more than a hundred yards from their position.

“That can't be good…” Loki muttered. He struggled to remember what was supposed to happen next.

“Yes, it could,” Volstagg tried, too insufferably cheery given their situation. “Might be an early spring!”

“How can you joke at a time like this?”

“It’s usually your burden, I know.”

“There,” Sif shouted. She pointed with her staff to a great statue under Laufey’s balcony. It trembled and shuddered, cracking. Dread coiled in Loki’s stomach. All while, from every shadow, more jotnar warriors rallied to join in the battle.

Loki tried to locate Thor but could not see him. The edges of his vision grew dark.

“Thor,” Hogun shouted. “We must go!”

“Then go!” came the reply. Three more jotnar were knocked through the air.

“There are too many of them,” Sif shouted.

Thor could not be swayed. “I can stop them!”

The companions hesitated.

The venerable frost beast broke out from its hibernation with a guttural roar. It shook the remaining pieces of ice from its thick jewel toned skin. Searing red predatory eyes scanned the battle raging across the temple plaza and quickly focused on the asgardians.

“Thor!” Sif tried again, pleading now. Desperate. Thor paid her warnings no heed. Volstagg hoisted Loki over his shoulder in anticipation of what, irrevocably had to come next.

“Run!”

They fled. Back through the ruins of Utgard as jotnar poured from the very ice to give chase. The behemoth howled, lopping along clumsily behind, crashing through everything in its path.

Another shockwave, greater than the last, ripped through the earth behind them. The sheer force of Thor’s attack – what else could it possibly be? - sent cracks racing through the ice. Loki watched from a new perspective, being jostled on Volstagg’s shoulder, seeing how very close Thor’s battle lust came to killing the five. The fissures chased them, breaking up the ground just behind their feet, exposing the honeycombed labyrinth that trembled beneath Utgard.

Volstagg gasped. “What's Thor done?”

“Does it matter?” Loki demanded.

The giants’ pursuit quickly became a race for their own lives. Hundreds of jotnar fell to their deaths. The frost beast fell too. Its claws raked in a vain attempt to maintain its hunt, almost taking Sif with it.

They reached the cliff face, the burnt runes a welcomed sight.

“Heimdall, open the Bifrost!”

The Asgardians stood on the utmost edge. Hogun took a step back, the ice cracking beneath him. They dared not move any closer to the ledge for fear of falling into the churning frigid waters below.

A rumbling growl reached their ears over the roar of water and the pursuing giants, and from the edge of the cliff the dark frost beast climbed up, looming over them. The asgardians stepped back, arraying themselves for a hopeless, glorious battle. Volstagg set Loki down, drew his axe. Loki somehow managed to conjure a dagger, though he doubt he would be needed, either way. His vision blurred.

The beast roared, its maw gaping wide to reveal rows of sharp obsidian teeth. Fetid breath and spittle flew over the companions. And then Thor was there. He entered the beast’s mouth, Mjolnir leading the way, punching a hole clean through the creature’s skull with a snap.

Thor, circled back, landed before the gaping wound. Covered in brain matter and blood the color of sapphires and the consistency of tar. He watched, gratified, as the dead beast tumbled from the cliff face without a sound.

He turned to face his indebted companions. Loki found some small pleasure in the way Thor’s smug grin died on his lips. They turned, back toward Utgard, taking in the sight of their foe. A host of frost giants pressing in. Hundreds of them – too many, even for them.

The jotnar moved forward, intent on the kill, eager for it.

Their triumph died with a deafening crack. The Bifrost never sounded sweeter. The dark sky opened up with a burst of searing light, and out of the bright white turbulence to the shock of all but Loki, rode Odin Allfather, clad in full regalia, Gungnir in hand. His powerful eight-legged steed, Sleipnir, reared up eager for a charge.

“Now, father!” Thor shouted. “We'll finish them together!”

“Silence!” Odin growled. The Allfather looked down at the six companions. His eyes flickered over the five, resting very briefly on Loki before settling on precious Thor. His knotted old mouth tightened.

Laufey shouldered his way to the front of his hoard. Slamming his fists into the ground, the ice beneath his feet obeyed and raised him toward Odin.

Loki leaned heavily against Volstagg. He tasted copper on his tongue. The same tang scented heavily where blood coated the hefty warrior’s shoulder. It continued to seep hot and steady. It glistened on his leathers, his gloves. The blade in his hand remained ready. For what, he did not entirely know. His fingers felt numb.

The King of Jotunheim stood face-to-face with Odin. The old enemies regarded one another for a while, their battle remaining confined to their respective stares. Laufey struck first with a sneer.

“You look tired, Allfather.”

“Laufey. End this.”

“Your boy sought this out.”

“You're right,” Odin conceded, bitter and embarrassed. “These are the actions of a boy. Treat them as such. You and I can stop this before there's further bloodshed.”

“We are beyond diplomacy now, Allfather,” Laufey growled. “He'll get what he came for -- war and death.”

Disappointment could be read in the minute slump of the Allfather’s shoulders.

“So be it.”

Laufey swung. His arm coated in a wicked sheath of black ice.

The Allfather reacted, bringing Gungnir to bear against the ice blade. The might of the battling forces blasted Laufey and the nearest jotnar backwards with a violent burst, granting the asgardians much needed space.

Odin raised his spear. The Bifrost surged forth, enveloping them, yanking them forcefully from the ground.


	4. Everything I Do

Their feet barely touched the floor of the observatory when Thor spoke.  

“Why did you bring us back?”

His words bit into the still air with an edge, but Odin’s rage made Thor’s seem a sputtering insignificant thing. **“** Do you realize what you've done?” the Allfather demanded. He slapped Sleipnir’s reins into the palm of a waiting einherjar. “What you've started?”

“I was protecting our home,” Thor growled, taking a step toward his father, his jaw clenching as Odin pulled Heimdall’s sword from the control pedestal and tossed it at the Gate Keeper. Heimdall caught the blade and, with a submissive bow, followed the royal guard out with the silver stallion.

“You can’t even protect your brother! How do you expect to protect the kingdom?” Odin’s gaze shifted to Loki.  Braced between Volstagg and Fandral, and unable to stand under his own power, the second prince grew more pallid. Blood limned the seam of his mouth.

“There won't be a kingdom to protect if you're afraid to act!”

Odin growled. His voice erupted, deep and guttural and echoing in the expanse of the gleaming Observatory. “Get him to a Healing Room! _Now!_ ”

The Warriors Three complied beneath Odin’s scrutiny. Sif lingered at the archway of the observatory. She looked at Thor, his attention riveted to the Allfather.

“The jotnar must learn to fear me as they once feared you!” He held his golden head high, proud shoulders squared, stance defiant. Thor stood by his decision. He did not watch them leave. He did not look at the blood pooled near his feet.

But a mist formed in his eyes, and his fists clenched until the knuckles turned into white pearls. He saw it, she knew. He felt it. She would find him later, in the twilight hours, blunting his guilt in a mead hall. Then he would leave her to blunder into Lyfjaberg and, despite the healers’ protests, fall asleep on the floor of whatever room Loki will be placed. That was Thor’s way.

The Allfather did not speak until Loki left his sight.

“That's pride and vanity talking!” Odin finally snapped. “Not leadership! Have you forgotten everything I've taught you? What about a warrior's patience?”

Sif left the room.

Outside, she found her companions with a detachment of einherjar. Volstagg sat in his saddle as Fandral and Hogun helped ease Loki to the stronger warrior. His bay gelding pawed nervously, the blood scent triggering flight instinct. It obeyed Volstagg regardless.

“You intend to ride?” Sif said. “He is dead weight. It will not be easy.”

“He’ll _be_ dead before I reach the Hill if I walk.”

With the prince secured between his thick arms, Volstagg adjusted his reins.

“Hurry,” was all Hogun said. The mighty warrior nodded and with a flick of the reins and deft press of his heels, he raced down the bridge flanked by two mounted einherjar, light pulsing beneath each hoof beat.

The rest waited with the horses. Listening to the rise and swell of two powerful voices. The einherjar stared solemnly at the three companions but said nothing, asked nothing. The guard standing with Sleipnir coughed. The Bifrost activated. Odin came out alone.

* * *

 

Sif found the Warriors Three in Fandral’s apartments, seated around the hearth fire despite the approaching dawn. Volstagg rubbed at the black necrosis blighting his skin. He did not eat. Cups of mead sat on the side tables, condensation pooling at the base of the mugs.

“How fares your arm?” Sif asked.

“As ugly as it is, it is healing fast. I can already feel the itch of new skin. How is…?”

“Eir is confident,” Sif answered quickly. “Though I doubt she would dare tell the queen otherwise.”

“What a mess this is,” Fandral said. He picked up his mug and did not drink. “One prince banished. The other…”

“We should never have gone,” Volstagg stated.

Sif sighed. She swallowed a tight lump in her throat. “There was no stopping him.”

“At least he's only banished and not dead,” Fandral offered. “Which is what we'd all be if that guard hadn't told Odin where we'd gone.”

She wanted to forget that bit. They danced the knife’s edge, pushing the boundaries of their skill, constantly testing their limits. Each suffered their wounds, spent their times on the Hill. They never needed Odin to save them from their own folly. The wound to her pride only made the loss sting all the worse.

“How did the guard even know?” Volstagg asked.

They lapsed into contemplation. Did it truly matter? Thor was gone. It was not the guard’s fault.

“Loki,” Hogun said. They all regarded him. He did not speak often.

“What?” Sif asked. Perhaps it did matter.

“I saw him speak to the young aesir in the stable yard. I thought nothing of it at the time.”

“He told the guard?” Sif repeated. Hope fluttered in her chest.

“Should we be surprised?” Fandral asked. “I mean, really?”

“Do you think,” Sif started. She considered her words carefully, making certain she believed in the possibility before she said the idea out loud. “Do you think that all this was by his design?”

Fandral frowned. “Sif…”

“He has always been jealous of Thor.”

“Yes. And he also saved our lives,” Volstagg said. “We should be grateful.”

“Laufey said there were traitors in the House of Odin,” Hogun said.

Fandral chuffed a laugh. “Why is it every time you choose to speak it has to be something dark and ominous?”

 “A master of magic could easily bring three jotnar into Asgard,” Hogun reasoned.

“No!” Volstagg said. “Surely not!”

Fandral shook his head. “Loki's always been one for mischief, but you're talking about something else entirely.”

Damn the two of them for being so blind.

“Who else could elude Heimdall's gaze with tricks of light and shadow?” Sif asked.

“So because Loki is the only one _we_ know of then he must be guilty? Do you hear yourself, Sif?”

“Think about the Coronation,” she pressed on. “The timing of that interruption was too perfect.” If Loki planned all of this then none of that mess in Jotunheim need lay upon Thor’s shoulders. Not truly. She could stop feeling….  He could come home.

It was easier to blame Loki.

“Seems a bit much for a prank. He almost died in my arms! I doubt I’ll ever get the blood out of my leathers.”

“We should still go to the Allfather,” Sif continued.

“And tell him what?” Fandral demanded. He rose from his seat. “‘Oh, good-day Allfather! We think your son betrayed the throne. Evidence? Why, we have none! What? We need evidence to accuse a prince of the Realm Eternal of treason? Pah! How about you go gather that for us, hmm? Oh, and do us a favor. Bring back Thor. There's a good fellow!’”

Fandral had a flare for melodramatic tirades.

“It's our duty,” Sif persisted. “If our suspicions are correct, then all of Asgard is in danger.”

* * *

 

Sif found the queen on the Hill of Healing, in the private rooms, conversing quietly with Eir. Loki laid on a recovery bed between them. He looked paler than even Sif was comfortable with, his wounds covered with runed bandages and caked with mystical powders. Tools used to snare magic. Eir noted his progress, murmuring her findings to her mousy little novice, all while waxing nostalgic with Frigga.

Queen Frigga sat at Loki’s side, golden hands clasped around one of his. What the queen saw in this one, why she favored him, Sif would never understand. Her eldest banished to the barbaric world of Midgard, and instead of pleading his case, the queen sat here in vigil over the unworthy.

 “I want to be here when he wakes,” she explained, as if reading the warrior’s thoughts. She looked so tired. “Almost two days now. His injuries were….”

“Extensive,” Eir supplied. “But I assure you, my friend, he will not wake until I allow it. His recovery goes smoother this way.”

“How much longer?”

“He heals quickly, all things considered. Perhaps tomorrow.”

Frigga leaned over, stroking his dark hair. “His connection continues to serve him well.”

Eir nodded in agreement. “I assume it is the only reason he survived the journey here.”

They remained silent for a long moment, contemplating their little observation as only spinners of seidhr were want to do. Sif again thanked the Norns she had sense enough to choose war over weavings. She cleared her throat.

“Oh. Forgive me. Good day, Lady Sif,” Queen Frigga said. Her voice warmed with a smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

Sif dropped to a knee, her fist over her heart. She hesitated for but a second.

“Good day my queen. I hoped to speak with you in confidence. It is a matter of the Realm.”

Frigga and Eir exchanged glances. Then, the healer said, “I have to make my rounds. I will check back in a while.” She and the novice bobbed fleeting curtsies and left. Frigga looked to Sif, one hand still resting upon her son’s.

Sif swallowed as she stood. She felt more at ease charging into battle.

“I apologize for laying this burden upon you. I had hoped to bring this matter to the Allfather, but now that he has fallen into the sleep…”

“Yes, it was sudden,” Frigga said. “We were unprepared. But fear not. Asgard will not remain rudderless for much longer.”

“That is what I fear my queen. I suspect Thor to be the victim of the highest treason.”

The queen’s brow furrowed. “Treason? Please, Lady Sif, explain all that you have discovered.”

“This will be difficult to put to words. Please, forgive me. I believe… that Loki brought the jotnar into Asgard… to ruin Thor’s coronation.”

The Queen stared at Sif. A muscle in her jaw fluttered.

“Don’t you see?” Sif implored. She glanced briefly at Loki, and then looked Frigga in her blue blue eyes. “His jealousy has corrupted him. Loki tempted Thor into transgressing against the jotnar, which led to Thor’s quarrel with the Allfather.”

“So, Thor’s banishment is Loki’s fault?”

“Yes, my queen.”

Frigga’s gaze drifted to Loki’s face. She blinked a few times, but remained silent for a long while. Sif noticed the queen’s hand tightening around Loki’s. Then, she drew in a breath and her back straightened. Frigga spoke, her tone measured, steady and even.

The words came, just as Fandral predicted. “I am ready to hear your evidence.”

“It is but suspicion at this time, my queen. It was Loki who informed the guard of our journey to Jotunheim. And Heimdall is certain that the jotnar were cloaked from his sight. It is no secret that your son is a master of illusions and trickery.”

Frigga stifled a small huff of laughter. “As am I, my dear. Loki has ever been my student.”

“But… your Grace,” Sif stammered. “With all due respect, you are not one for childish pranks played out of jealous spite.”

“You are correct. He can be spiteful and vindictive on occasion, but that is not all that he is. Loki has grown in the shadow of Thor. Can you honestly tell me, Lady Sif, that you have never been jealous in all your years?”

“I swear, my queen, I never have.”

The queen turned her attention back to her son.

“Then I pray to the Norns you never do,” she said softly. “I understand and appreciate that you worry for Thor. You have always been a steadfast companion, as good a friend to my son as any mother could dare hope for.”

“Thank you, my queen…”

“So I shall forgive this insult.”

Sif’s brow ached from the weight of her frown. “My queen, I…”

“You dare come into this room, at this time, to level such an accusation?” Frigga demanded. Though her voice did not rise above a conversational hum, Sif heard the steel beneath each syllable. “I know that Loki does not think or behave as you perceive an aesir ought. I understand that his sense of humor and tricks were a cause of irritation in your youth and that he sowed mistrust with you. But to blame him for Thor’s own foolishness is unjust.”

“But if he allowed the breach…”

“Is my son the only sorcerer in all the Nine?”

Sif wanted, stubbornly, to argue that he alone would dare. “No.”

“Did he force Thor, or any of you, to go to Jotunheim?”

“No.”

“Did he draw first blood?”

“No.”

“And most important of all, Lady Sif. Has Loki ever betrayed Thor?”

Sif grit her teeth. “No,” she ground out. Not really. She hoped she did not sound a petulant child, though she certainly felt the urge to argue the matter. She felt his guilt in the pit of her gut.

“Then, if ever you bore my sons any love, put this foolishness from your mind. Loki will wake to find himself alone with a kingdom upon his shoulders. He will need the help of his companions if he is to keep Asgard together.”

“Will you request that he bring Thor back?”

Frigga did not even look at her. “I will not.”

“But… I don’t understand.”

The Queen smiled weakly. “What, do you suppose, Odin will do if he wakes and finds that Loki overturned his decree?”

Sif paused. The scenario, built upon the experience of the last day, did not end well for either son. She had not considered anything beyond returning Thor to where he belonged. The throne, Asgard, were his and his alone.

“No,” Frigga continued. “I will not lead Loki into conflict with his father. I have done what I could for Thor. I pleaded mercy… and when the Allfather refused rest assured I let my displeasure be known.”

“So that’s it then? We do nothing? We just… accept it.”

“We can have faith.”

“Faith?” Sif tested the word. As a woman of action, she hated the taste. “While Thor suffers?”

“I know,” Frigga said. She pulled her eyes away from her precious dark son. “I know this seems cruel. I never would have leveled such a harsh punishment on one of my children. But my Odin is wise. Everything he does is for a purpose. We must trust in his wisdom and have faith that Thor will find his way.”

* * *

 

Sun poured in through the skylights, warming the throne room and setting the gold cloaks of the several dozen stationed einherjar aglow. Uncountable petitioners and nobles scurried amongst the proud columns and life continued in Asgard as though the Allfather himself sat the throne. Thor’s banishment forgotten by the people with a swift and humble coronation.

The usurper wasted no time.

Their turn came. A guard escorted the four companions to the bottom of the dais and left them to stand before Loki. Gungnir in hand, there remained no doubt the queen and council willingly conceded to him. The golden spear seemed too perfect next to the second son’s finery, all verdant green and enchanted gold.

“The king will hear your petition,” a herald prompted.

 “My king,” Sif managed, lowering herself to one knee, her hand fisted over her heart. The Warriors Three echoed her movements.

“Ah. Lady Sif. You’re here about Thor’s banishment, yes?”

She prepared herself to beg. Now that she stood before Loki, sprawled out upon the High Seat, looking much too comfortable, her resolve faded. She could not bear to grant him the satisfaction. And yet…

“We request that you overturn the Allfather’s decree. Please, sire, end Thor’s banishment.”

He cocked his head as though considering the innocent request of a child. “My first act as king cannot be to undo the Allfather’s last, my lady.” He brought a pale hand up and rested it upon his chest. “We are on the brink of war with Jotunheim. Our people need a sense of continuity if they are to feel safe during these troubled times.”

She frowned. He waited only a beat before speaking again.

“This banishment is not without provisions. Have some faith, dear Sif.”

“Provisions?” she asked. He smiled indulgently.

“Yes,” Loki said. “If Thor can prove his worth to the Allfather’s albeit vague standards, he can return home and reclaim his title.”

“To what standard?”

“As I said, they are rather vague. My mother supposes it concerns the perfecting of Thor’s rough character. Kindness, humility, patience…”

“Thor is not one for thinking through obstacles,” Fandral said. “He breaks them.”

Loki’s smile widened.

“Fandral has a point,” Volstagg added. “This is perhaps a bit...”

“Harsh?” Loki suggested. His smile withered. “Do you not recall his belligerence in Jotunheim? He was reckless.”

“Fine,” Sif said, her voice tightening. “You allow him to take this punishment and learn the Allfather’s lesson. Must he do it alone? Could we not help him? Offer him protection or advice? Anything?”

Hogun spoke up: “We’ve always been at his side.”

“My friends, clearly I have more faith in my brother than any of you.”

“He’s right. This is Thor,” Volstagg boomed. “The Thunderer! We should allow him some time to succeed at this challenge. He’s faced worse, and won.”

“But he’s mortal now,” Sif said. “He could die before he even locates Mjolnir.”

Loki’s brow furrowed. She wanted to see it as concern.

“The Allfather did not say he had to do it alone…” the second prince conceded.

“We could ask Heimdall to keep an eye on him.”

“Oh, I assure you, my loyal Gatekeeper is already doing that,” Loki said, his voice laced with a deprecation that ill fit the words. “The real question is whether or not he has sworn any additional oaths to keep us from interfering.”

“You’re the king now,” Fandral ventured. “Heimdall might allow you through?”

Sif stifled a groan. Sending Loki to help would be akin to having a wolf guard a babe.

“Perhaps… though I feel it a disservice to Thor.”

 “Thor’s honor could be at stake,” Hogun muttered.

“How long are you willing to wait, then?” Sif demanded, not taking her eyes off Loki’s lean frame. She looked for any tells.

“He could be back tomorrow for all we know,” the prince said.

“But if he isn’t?”

“It has been five days…” Loki had the grace to look troubled. “He should have been back by now.” His thumb worried at his upper lip, lost in thought. Sif could smell a victory. She prodded, cautiously.

“We should at least make certain he is safe.”

It still came as a pleasant surprise when Loki nodded his submission.

“You’re right,” he said.


	5. No One Left to Blame

The walls glowed desolate bright under strips of white light. He longed for his warm, dark chambers. For the expansive bed he could fully stretch in even with fairer company. Of soft vermillion wools and furs thick and plush and golden.

Instead he sat on a metal chair, his hands cuffed behind his back, a prisoner. He could not break this inferior steel. Thor stared ahead blankly. His lip stung and an unfamiliar ache began to set into his muscles from the forced position.

The door clicked, and a man in black entered. Thin brown hair receded from his skull and the easy set around his mouth and eyes suggested professional detachment.

“I’m Agent Phil Coulson.” More a proclamation than introduction. Thor flexed his fists absentmindedly and looked at the white tiles beneath the agent’s black leather shoes. Agent Coulson stood across from him, mirroring his blank expression, for several moments.

“It's not easy to do what you did,” he said finally. “You made us all look like a bunch of mall cops. That's hurtful. The men you so easily subdued are highly-trained professionals, and in my experience, it takes someone who's received similar training to do what you did to them. Would you like to tell me where you were trained?”

Child’s play, even in his weakened mortal state. He trained for centuries in the golden yards of Asgard. Learned at the hand of General Tyr and his noble einherjar how to fight with sword, axe, hammer and fist.

None of which mattered now.

The agent continued to whine, listing places Thor did not recognize. Did they ever mention such Realms in his lessons? Would he remember if they had?

“Pay attention,” his brother hissed, all while keeping his round verdant eyes fixed upon their tutor. Loki suffered the class with such rapt attention. “A great king must know the regions and have a grasp of economics...”

“That’s what I have you for,” Thor had answered. Loki had not laughed. In fact, he had not smiled either. Not even a wisp of a simper.

The agent continued, firing one question after another regardless of Thor’s utter lack of answers.

“Certain groups pay well for a good mercenary. Especially HYDRA.”

He fought for Asgard, with his brother and Sif and the Warriors at his side. For his people. Not for pay! And what did the Olympian monster have to do with this situation? These mortals accused him of madness and lies when speaking truth while referencing creatures from beyond Midgard when it fancied their purpose.

“Who are you?”

He ground his teeth. A warrior of Asgard. A Prince of the Realm Eternal. A son of Odin.

“Just a man,” Thor muttered. Defeat. Sour like rancid meat. He wasted on Midgard, suffering humiliation upon humiliation while Jotunheim plotted war. The son of Coul did not appreciate his candor. The Agent of Midgard leaned in close.

“One way or another, we find out what we want to know. We're good at that.”

Thor understood. Another midgardian in another stiff black costume opened the door. Coulson did not look away from Thor. “Sir... he's got a visitor.”

“Excuse me a moment,” Agent Coulson said, straightening. He left the room with the other in tow. The door closed with a click.

Thor did not understand. He fought his way to Mjolnir, in muck and mire and pouring rain. Thunder drummed his war song and the Lightening illuminated the field of battle. He defeated the midgardian defenders of the plastic labyrinth with his bare hands. He did not need a weapon to win this day. He did not need his friends’ prowess or his brother’s little tricks. What could be more worthy? Why did the hammer reject him?

The door burst open, and Thor noted the sound of two sets of feet stepping into the room.

“Donny! There you are!”

The joviality of the voice startled the embittered prince. Thor looked up and found Dr. Erik Selvig. Had the man gone mad? He looked disheveled, with his button down shirt only partially tucked in and his short grizzled hair a mess from the nervous pass of his own hands. Soon as the agent unlocked the bindings Selvig pulled Thor to his feet.

“It's going to be all right, my friend,” he said, wrapping Thor in a warm hug. “Come on, I'm taking you home.”

Home. The very word left a coiling ache around his heart. Thor followed. He had nowhere else to go.

Thor and Selvig made their way passed the SHIELD Security Room. They stepped out into the light of day, wind kicking sand in his face. Thor cast his attention to the ground and followed Doctor Selvig to the monstrous horseless carriage Lady Lewis affectionately called “the Pinz”.

“Just keep him away from the bars,” Agent Coulson called out.

“I will,” Selvig promised emphatically.

The heavy doors of the vehicle slammed shut with a thunk.

Thor buckled the seat belt mechanically, uncertain how the flimsy woven strap would protect them. “Where are we going?”

Erik dropped his cool demeanor.

“To get a drink.”

888888888888888888

Hank’s was a far cry from Thor’s favorite mead halls. The little ‘bar’ boasted a low ceiling and there the similarities stopped. The air remained free of pipe smoke and yet seemed staler somehow, reeking of the synthetics the midgardians were so dependent on. Tables choked the floor space, shoddily crafted of metal and rubber rather than ironwood and tooled leather. The robin’s egg tiles chipped away to charcoal baseboards. Dust collected atop black plastic picture frames which displayed texts and photos in black and white, and faded pastels of those horseless carriages.

Thor longed for home even as Selvig led him to tall seats that sat along the serving area. He made an order to the barkeep. All while Thor stared ahead at a wall lined with colourful bottles and more belligerent lighting.

The bartender, Hank, set down a couple mugs of beer and two tiny glasses of some golden colored liquid that scented strongly of alcohol. Selvig poured the shot into his mug and Thor followed his example. They tipped their heads back and drank deep.

It burned. The beverage sufficed.

The bartender set two more mugs in front of them, only the refreshing liquid. End of the Trail Brown Ale, Hank called it. Thor smirked.

“Thanks Hank.” Selvig lifted his mug to Hank in salute. The company also sufficed. This remained a temporary challenge, ominous ale names aside. A single stanza in Thor’s song.

“Thank you,” Thor said once Hank moved away to serve other patrons.

“Don't thank me.” Selvig uttered the words, all traces of mirth and comaradie having flown. “I only did it for Jane.”

Of course. Little Jane. Beautiful, vulnerable and nervous as a doe. He wondered if her nervous temper could be soothed beneath a steady hand. Thor considered Selvig’s age, his timid nature. He would make a poor mate to so delicate a woman. “Are you in love with her?”

Selvig choked mid sip, sputtering. “Jane's like a daughter to me. Her father and I taught at University together. A good man, but he never listened, either.”

Thor smiled. “Complacency leads to ruin.”

Selvig set down his drink, and stared at Thor a long moment in a way that only a father can, a silence that demanded to be filled with explanation as a precursor to a winded lecture.

“My father advocates patience and peace, though he led a different life. My brother advises caution and intrigue - trickery,” Thor added. “He avoids conflict - unless the odds are completely slanted in his favor.”

“You don’t agree with their wisdom? Perhaps your father wants you to avoid his own mistakes.”

Thor snorted. “It was his ‘mistakes’ – as you call them - that forged his Realm.”

“Is that why you’re here, then?” Selvig asked. “You had a falling out with your father?”

“A proper king acts.”

“King?” Selvig repeated the word with a degree of astonishment. Did Midgard no longer have kings? “Look. I don't know if you're delusional, and I really don't care at this point. I just care about Jane. I've seen the way she looks at you.”

Many women looked at him that way. Instead, Thor said, “I swear to you, I mean her no harm.”

“Good,” Selvig answered. “I'll buy you one more drink, and you'll leave town tonight.”

Selvig watched him until he nodded in agreement. They took a drink. 

“For the first time in my life,” Thor found himself saying to this man whom he only met yesterday. “I have no idea what I'm supposed to do.”

The corner of Selvig’s lip turned up in a small smile.

“Anyone who’s ever going to find their way in this world has to start by admitting they don't know where the hell they are.” Selvig took a long sip. “Now you get to ask for directions.”

Thor nodded. Simple advice, though buried in metaphor. Like mother. Like Loki. How did his brother fare? Word would have been sent if…

“Hey, I know you,” said a man, a large fellow who sat a few stools down the bar. He pushed off from where he sat and ambled over, resting an elbow on the bar a couple of feet from Thor’s mug. “Over at Isabela’s yesterday. You smashed one of her cups.” He laughed. “Were you raised in a stable?”

The man wore a beard that could rival Volstagg’s in thickness, and had one of those common hats – in a green his brother would approve - with a visor midgardians favored sitting atop his mop of dark hair. He even moved in a similar fashion, with a lumbering swagger that came from the confidence size granted.

“No…” Thor answered. The Royal Stables made this town seem like a slop trough. Why did mortals not appreciate boisterous thanks or the destruction of cheap impersonal mass crafted items?

“Oh yeah!” said another man, this one younger and wiry. “He was with that hot girl.”

Hot? As in Muspelheim? Girl? Did they mean Jane or Darcy? He would have thought them mature women. 

The bearded man smirked. “I wouldn't mind either one doing a little research on me.”

Both then. The tone and leering gave away their intent, and Selvig’s uncomfortable shifting cleared away any doubt. The men laughed, pleased with their verse. Thor never considered himself a proper critic in regards to lyrical composition, but he found their turn of phrase lacking all the same. He grew up next to eloquence incarnate, after all.

“You should be more respectful,” Thor said. He took a long sip, allowing the midgardians a chance to process the meaning veiled in the advice. 

“And you should shut the hell up.” 

Thor chuckled as he set down his mug. Truthfully, their words were tame compared to things that could pour from Fandral’s lewd mouth, and the women in question were not married or present. But Selvig looked displeased and Thor desperately wanted to hit something.

So he did.

Selvig stood, stepped between them as the bearded lout reeled from the punch. Weak mortal coil or not, Thor knew good form.

“Gentlemen, please,” Selvig said, touching Thor’s shoulder. Preaching peace and caution even as the battle became joined. Father would like him. “Let's keep our heads.”

Then the younger man head-butted Doctor Selvig. Midgardian males seemed to lack in basic courtesy. Thor gladly taught them some respect.

888

Thor woke with a throbbing skull. His body ached, rebelling against sleeping in the seated position and mourning a down mattress and cedar scented sheets. He looked down at his feet, the floor white and sterile beneath his cheap borrowed shoes. Hands restrained behind his back, Thor twisted his wrists, could feel the cuts and pull of dried blood on his knuckles, and tested the bonds. He still could not break them.


	6. Consign Me not to Darkness

Smith Motors stood hollow. Where once this retro little glass cylinder held promise, now Jane Foster began to see outdated optimism. Her white board alone carried anything of value, its stainless steel frame riveted to concrete. They had not thought to erase it. A small kindness. Still, Jane did not doubt, not even for one moment, that those suits remembered to take a picture of her equations. Hard earned calculations stolen on the way out with a smart phone.

Next to the staunch white board and its precious black chicken scratch was the naked corkboard. Once home to her kaleidoscopic collection of images of that glorious anomaly. The _Bifrost_ he called it. She preferred to call it a breakthrough. The brown cork matched the desks and shelves, stripped down to their serviceable finishes. A single computer cord remained attached to the outlet near the corner desk, a reminder of their careless haste.

Jane stood at the central workstation covered in a collage loose leaf. She scrawled franticly to pluck her theorems from the ether of her memory. All while the hastily purchased Dell laptop doggedly churned its way through newly set algorithms. A sleek minimalist office chair, upholstered in charcoal tweed, enthroned a white staples file box. Four unfolded boxes lay on the floor. The pinzgauer sat parked at the ready just outside the glass double doors, full tank and prepped to begin the painful recollection of data. If such data could be recollected at all.

Her cell punched the relative peace with Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi. Jane hesitated a moment before reaching for the phone.

“Hi, mom… why are you up so late?”

A slight delay in the conversation.

“ _Hello, Jane_ ,” her mother finally said, “ _I couldn’t sleep. For some reason I worry._ _How are you holding up?_ ”

“Oh, just resurrecting my work and keeping one step ahead of my grant officer.”

“ _I’m serious, Jane_.”

“So am I…”

“ _Have any lawyers returned your calls?_ ”

Well, there had been that one guy from Albuquerque. One consultation and he stopped returning her calls. “Um hmm. Yeah, actually.”

Her mother went silent, and Jane could feel the building tension.

“ _Jane. I want you to come here. Live with me. We’ll figure this all out…_ ”

Jane allowed the offer a moment to settle. “In London?” she asked. “Mom, you know I can’t.” She left that it felt like betrayal to Erik unsaid.  “I can’t run from this.”

“ _Jane_ ,” her mother said with _that_ edge, and in the background, Jane heard the clinking of a spoon on porcelain. “ _It’s been over a month. Have you… have you thought that maybe no one_ can _help you? Governments have a way of silencing people who dig too deep._ ”

“And let them win?” Jane cried. “Just let them get away with carting people off like they did my life’s work? No way!”

A long shadow fell across her workspace.

“Pardon me.” A voice came from behind her.

“ _You sound like your father…”_

“Hang on, mom.”

Jane turned, craning her neck at an awkward angle to pinch a too thin cell to her shoulder. A tall man stood in the doors, framed by the setting sun. She had not heard a car outside. Maybe, once they cleaned up this whole mess, she would let Darcy get that dog. Or they could just keep Thor.

“Hi?”

“I am terribly sorry for interrupting your… communication,” he continued. The accent sounded cultured, the tone clipped. British? Definitely too polite to be in league with that Agent Coulson. “I wish to speak with you.”

Hair dark as his black three piece suit and slicked back mercilessly. Perfectly tailored and too blissfully sleek to be a SHEILD peon. The sumptuously dyed silk tie clinched it, with not a pair of shades to be seen. Jane felt her mouth fall open, and found her voice.

“Uh… Can you give me a sec?”

“Certainly,” he replied, raising his hands in appeasement.

She turned her back to him, moving further from the door a few paces. “Hey, mom?”

“ _Company_?”

“Yeah. Can I call you back?”

“ _Who is it?_ ”

“I think… it might finally be Erik’s lawyer. I should go.”

“ _You’ll call back after he leaves. Right?” A pause and then, “I worry._ ”

“I know.”

“ _I love you._ ”

“I love you, more.”

Jane ended the call, setting the phone down on the pile of papers in the Staples box and turned her attention to the man in her lab. Erik had a friend or two up high, but Jane never imagined this. _This_ radiated a sort of graceful menace, the sophistication of a high priced law firm. A shark in a suit. A predator. She needed a predator. The fantasy of a dumbstruck Coulson being served an iron clad lawsuit brought a strange giddiness bubbling to the surface, eclipsing, nearly, the idea of being a published and respected scientist. Jane, ever the professional, bridled it slightly for appearances sake.

“Wow,” she managed, “I was starting to give up. You found the place okay?”

He nodded, casting an imperious glance about the lab. “I always manage.”

“So, uh….” She huffed a nervous little laugh, rubbing her hands on her jeans. Was she supposed to shake his hand? She tried to ignore the disorder of her scattered notes, struggling not to feel self-conscious in her favorite flannel. “I’m Doctor Jane Foster. Thanks for coming.”

He turned his head slightly, keen eyes narrowing along with a sly smirk and stepped away from the door. He moved toward her with a lazy prowling grace. Plucking up her offered hand he brushed his thumb across her knuckles, inspecting them before pressing a chaste kiss there.

“I am Loki. Of Asgard,” he said. “And I am looking for Thor Odinson.”

Of course he was too good to be true.

“So you’re _his_ lawyer,” she stated, ripping her hand away from his grasp and stepping back. “Well that’s just typical!”

A smile bloomed. He cocked his head to the side and pressed those thin lips together, like he held back some hilarious secret.

“I happen to be his brother, actually.” He took another step towards her. “I doubt he mentioned me…”

Thor never did. There was an inexorable yet innocent arrogance in his smooth smile and the regal planes of his face that confirmed the relation to the self-professed demi-god that darkened her door all those weeks ago.

Correction. Apparently not-so-homeless if this well-heeled brother now standing in her lab indicated anything. The brother of Thor. Thor, who spouted nonsense about Norse myth and pledged fantastical promises. Thor, who with an easy grin and a kiss on the hand led her to compromise her credibility, her team, her research. Her life’s work.

Jane’s anger flashed over, her fist connecting with the deceptive density of his sculpted jaw. Even though he looked willowy compared to Thor, even though his head snapped to the side, fluidly absorbing the brunt of her ire, pain shot up through _her_ fist like she punched a brick wall. Jane yelped.

Loki’s smile dissolved.

“Where the Hell have you been?” she snapped. Jane shook her now throbbing hand, trying to shake out the pain.

Her outrage bled away as his hooded gaze returned to her. Sea water. Not quite blue. Not quite green. Not quite grey. Profound and mercurial. Loki wet his lips, a breathy laugh escaping between straight white teeth and brought his hand to his chest, looking perfectly contrite.

“Some things never change, it seems.” Loki grinned as though she had not just popped him. Jane’s pulse pounded in her ears.  “You will have to forgive me. I had no inkling, dear doctor, that my presence was required.”

His unflappable politeness only increased her chagrin. Her mother would be mortified. “Well… you _should_ have,” she sputtered, indignant and managing to glare at him. “Have you any idea the trouble he’s caused?”

This gave Loki pause, his brows lifting in sincere surprise. Jane pretended that her visitor had not mentioned Asgard. She choose to ignore his archaic manners and lexicon. Or his strange Norse name. Jane focused, instead, on the severe, hungry angles of his face.

“Trouble?” he asked. He considered this a moment. “Thor always finds trouble, though I admit I may have underestimated his ability to do so in so short a time.”

Maybe it was the perfection of his suit. He came to her without ranting about _Mjolnirs_ and _Realms_ and _Bifrosts_.  This one was more restrained, for sure. More thoughtful. She lifted her chin and regarded him squarely.

“Is he crazy?” she asked.

“You mean to inquire if he is mad?” Loki asked, an amused smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “No, Doctor Foster. Thor is not _crazy_. Does my confirmation make you feel more at ease?”

She found small solace in the fact she had risked her research for more than a handsome face. Jane’s guest wandered further into her once-lab uninvited, skirting her workstation, long tapered fingers caressing her notes, his eyes focused on the papers. “Now tell me, doctor. Where is my erstwhile… brother?”

Jane huffed out a sigh. “He’s locked up. Along with my research, my equipment, my friend. They’ve even taken my intern.” That SHIELD referred to their theft and kidnapping as arrest Jane also tried to ignore.

“They?” Loki prompted.

“SHIELD.”

Loki’s attention snapped back to Jane’s face.

“They claim to be…”

“I know,” he said quickly, constricting his eyes, “or rather, I should say I have an idea.” He cast his gaze to the ground and then, muttered more to himself. “This… is not right--”

“You’re damn right it’s not!” she snapped. Loki looked back to her, eyes wide. “They, SHIELD, whoever they are, can’t get away with this!”

Loki maintained his own council, staring into a space between himself and her Dell. Those dark brows furrowed with a deep thought Jane found relative.

“Please, Doctor Foster. Tell me everything.”

Jane sighed. Another man recently made promises to get her stuff back only to wind up in lockdown with her friends implicated. And yet, to finally have someone here to talk to granted a measure of relief.

“We’ll need coffee,” she said. Jane stepped into the kitchen and he followed. She flicked her gaze to Loki as he loosened the green and gold houndstooth tie. Thor loved coffee, so she filled the carafe to the top.

“Look,” she said, pouring water into the reservoir. “Before we get into all… this. I….” She took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m sorry. For hitting you. That was rude.”

“Indeed, it was,” he agreed. She worked through the heat rising in her cheeks, scooping out a tablespoon of grinds for each cup of water. She flipped the switch.

“This whole experience has been so… frustrating! SHIELD has been stonewalling me for weeks. And then here you waltz in, looking like…” she gestured to his entire body. “Like someone who might finally be able help me navigate through this civil rights nightmare only to find out you’re _also_ tied to the guy who’s tangled up with all this. I mean… why? Why did SHIELD take such a sudden interest in my work? It can’t be coincidence. I’ve been rotting out here for months. And before that?”

Jane trailed off, leaving the truth of her professional purgatory private. “So I kinda took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate your forthrightness, Doctor Foster. Now please. Enlighten me as to how my brother managed to dally here so long _and_ escape your care.”

Huh. Thor always called her Jane, or Lady Jane.

“We were monitoring an incredible atmospheric anomaly when I grazed him… with that,” she said, sheepishly pointing to the Pinzgauer. Loki frowned. He followed her gaze, twisting at the waist, and studied the large vehicle.

“Grazed?”

“Okay, it could objectively be called ‘hitting’ if you want to be technical.”

He pinned her with a look and asked; “Truly?”

Jane winced as she set two mugs on the counter. She nodded. Loki’s eyes brightened and a sly smile slid into place. She mirrored the gesture hesitantly.

“Whatever,” she said, trying to sound as flippant as possible. “Darcy’s the one who tased him.”

“Tased?”

“It’s an electroshock device that causes… neuromuscular incapacitation.”

Loki’s grin widened further. “Oh, I _like_ this story.”

 “He was fine! We dumped him off at the Hospital, as good Samaritans should, just to be safe. He didn’t react too well to that. Got a little rough with the staff.”

“As is his way.”

The coffee maker beeped.

“That would have been nice to know.” She filled the cups. “It wasn’t until we got back to the lab that we saw his image in the thermal photographs of the… he called it a Bifrost.”

“Of course,” he said. “Thor never cared for calling it a _Rainbow Bridge_.”

“You mean the Einstien-Rosen Bridge,” she asked, handing him his cup.

“Thank you, and no. I most certainly mean _Bifrost_. A far more poetic name for something so wonderous than ‘worm-hole’, would you not agree, doctor?”

Jane gaped at him. Loki blinked. Smirked. Took a sip. “Interesting,” he said, somewhat hesitant. “I like it.”

Great, Loki also likes coffee. But more importantly, he seemed capable of speaking her language in more ways than just english. “You know what a worm-hole is?”

“I have enjoyed passing experience with your primitive terminology in my travels, yes.”

Jane watched as he pulled out one of the white resin chairs. He gestured, offering it to her.

“Oh! Uh, no thanks.” She couldn’t sit now. “So then, this ‘Bifrost’, _is_ an Einstien-Rosen Bridge?” She did not wait for him to answer. The bemused look in those bright sea foam eyes only encouraged her. “This is…!” She threw a hand up excitedly, unable to pull down the right word for _this_. “Do you have any idea what this means? We need to figure out when the next one opens, and I - ”

Loki raised his fist, one long finger pointing at the ceiling in the universal call for a moment of silence, other curved around his mug, smug little smirk playing at his mouth and the creases of his eyes.  He got comfortable in the chair, his legs invaded her space.

“First. The Bifrost is _not_ one of your topographical ‘Einstien-Rosen’ Bridges,” he said. Just like that. Loki dropped his challenge on the table like a dead rotting fish.

“What?” Jane scoffed, incredulous. She shook her head, as if her denial could force him to elaborate. She battled between flattered that he may have read her notes, and insulted that he dare argue with her hypothesis.“Prove it!”

Loki took his sweet time taking a sip. Set the cup down. Licked his lips.

“I need not prove it, doctor, anymore than I need prove the existence of gravity. It is guileless, immutable, fact.”

“You can’t just dismiss Einstein’s theory like _that_ and then expect me to just-,”

 “Accept it. Secondly,” he pressed. “None of this brings us any closer to finding my oaf of a brother or reacquiring your possessions. Please, Doctor Foster. Focus.”

“But-,”

“Another time, perhaps.”

“Thor promised to give me answers once he got his hammer,” she said. It sounded petulant, even as she said it. Thor had been no more willing to share than Loki now. But if – _if_ was a word that should have no place in her vocabulary – what Thor alluded to turned out to be the truth then she was right. She was _right_.

Loki snorted, an undignified sound that seemed at odds with his being on a fundamental level. It only compounded her sense of foolishness.

“Oh, I am certain he did.”

“He got arrested. I… I hoped that if we helped him that he’d answer my questions. So I convinced Erik to help spring him out. It would have worked too. But then they had to go and pick a fight at the watering hole. SHIELD took Darcy the next morning for interfering with an official government sanctioned investigation.”

Loki stared at her in unblinking silence. His index finger worried at his upper lip. 

“I know how this looks,” she said. “I just wanted my equipment, my notebook…. That he’d confirm my theories… let me know whether or not I was chasing my tail out here. Do you have any idea what it’s like to have your life’s work torn down before your eyes? I didn’t think that…”

Her throat went dry, the words sticking there.

“You hoped he would provide validation,” he said. Loki spoke the words like a revelation. It did not sound like the accusation she expected. She nodded.

“Do you know where they hold Thor prisoner?”

“I have an idea. They set up camp around a crashed satellite site. Thor thought it was his ‘Mjolnir’.”

Loki leaned forward. “And would you be so kind as to show me the way?”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Diplomacy,” Loki said breezily. “And _if_ that fails, a show of force and coercion.”

Jane had no idea what he considered a show of force in his current attire. Loki didn’t seem to be packing any weapon save for his smile. She hoped this brother proved capable of more than talk as SHIELD sorely needed a dose of their medicine. Jane finished her coffee, and pushed herself out of her seat. “I’ll drive.”

Loki eyed the pinzgauer warily. Jane rolled her eyes.

“What?” she demanded, hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me you’d prefer a horse too?”

His lips disappeared in an expression of distaste. He said nothing.

888888888888888888

Jane parked where she had with Thor, up on the bluff above the SHIELD camp. She dared not get any closer. Not now.

They found the SHIELD site in a state of chaos. Flashes of gunfire pulsed in inordinate increments, the sudden pops ringing out in the dry air, over shouts and cries. An agent flew clumsily under the witness of the flood lights, thrown a good fifty feet by a dark haired woman. Jane saw a flash of quicksilver light as the same woman sliced a gun clean in two with a blade.

A black sedan rolled end over end in a clatter and scraping of metal, glass and sand toward an entrenched group of operatives. They scurried out of the path just as a behemoth of a man hefted an axe and charged their position. He did not seem to notice the arrow protruding from his shoulder.

“FOR ASGARD!”

Jane heard the battle cry clearly. Stifled the questions. Later. She’d get her answers later. Though Loki said nothing she could feel a seething rage rolling of him, choking thick as black smoke. His hands balled into fists.

“The loyal warriors,” he drawled, his voice a bitter rasp.

“Oh my God!” she whispered. “Erik and Darcy could be in there. And your brother….”

“Fear not, Doctor Foster,” Loki said. “I will set this anarchy to order before your sun rises.”

When he took a step toward the chaos below, she reached out and grabbed his arm, solid beneath the fine garment. Loki stopped.

“Are you crazy? You could get killed down there!”

Loki’s gaze settled on her hand as if inspecting some obvious abnormality before his eyes drifted up to meet hers. The nasty sneer on his lips softened.

The high priced suit began to dissipate in a shimmering flurry of gold and green fractals and Jane gasped. Black Italian silk gave way to thick dark leather, black and chocolate, and brilliant green fabric. She took a step back. Bronzed armour, intricately detailed like the burn pattern of the Bifrost, covered his head, his shoulders, and his forearms, sculpted into flowing lines that blended artfully with his lithe frame. A vicious golden spear materialized in his hand, reaching a few inches over even the sweeping horns of his gleaming helm.

On anyone else the get up would have seemed silly. Ostentatious. Purely ridiculous, like something out of a fantasy novel. Instead,…

“Is this how you always look?”

He smiled and conceded with a single nod. Yeah, he owned it. “Preferably.”

“It’s… a _good_ look. But how…?” she asked, her index finger gesturing from the tall leather boots to the horns. She reached out to touch him again, assessing for herself that her eyes did not deceive her. The metal felt cool. The leather firm. The green cape whisper soft beneath her fingertips. Cashmere? Jane pulled her hand back and, to her embarrassment, could not wipe the euphoric beam from her face and wondered at the science behind this vivid illusion. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, pinning the questions there, soothed herself with a promise to figure it out all out. One way or another, she’d make him share the secret. First she needed her stuff back.

Loki grinned, head high and shoulders squared.

“Magic, Doctor Foster.”

Her grin widened until her cheeks ached.

He strode into the midst of the battle.


	7. Hold My Tongue

A projectile whizzed past her ear, pulling stray wisps of hair and tickling her skin with the narrow proximity. Then a single word, a command laced with jagged steel, slashed through the tangled confusion of battle.

“ _ENOUGH!_ ”

Sif swung her bladed staff in a wide arc. The midgardian warrior, if he could be called such, jumped backward and tripped on his own feet, finally dropping his useless weapon. She leapt, descending upon him all while fighting the chilling sensation, the force of _his_ will, coiling around the very fibers of her being. Her muscles seized to a halt without her command, the blade of her staff an inch from the mortal’s belly. A wide eyed boy barely of age to grow a beard. Sif firmly planted her boot on the squirming male and turned to the arrogant voice. There she found her ‘king’ in all his sorcerous glory. Loki emerged from the inky black of the desert, prowling toward her, his eyes narrowed in menace. The sight of Gungnir in his left hand sent a spike of rage through her core.

As a girl, father told her tales by firelight, his kind rumbling voice warming the long winter nights. He favored stories of the Valkyries and the loyalty of the Einherjar. Of Bor and Odin in their youth. Gungnir could only be held in the hand of a true king. It _never_ missed. Why then, did it not scorch this traitorous hand?

A midguardian fired upon the usurper king and the bullet ricocheted off the gilded uru steel of his shoulder guard. Another grazed the side of his helm with a spark. A woman’s fretful yelp rang clear over the loud popping. A shield of seidhr, woven with but thought and a twitch of his free hand swallowed the next volley. The second son answered their warm greeting with a warning of his own. A precise tilt of the legendary spear and a blast of raw white-hot energy obliterated an empty armored vehicle, reducing it to particle dust. Someone shouted.

“Holy shit!”

“Fall back! New hostile! Do not engage! I repeat _DO NOT ENGAGE_!”

The usurper remained coiled for another strike, Gungnir grasped at the ready while the fingers of his free hand twitched with the pull of magic. A relative silence settled over the dusty battlefield, disturbed by groans and heaving breaths. Pained whimpers drifted on the air beyond Sif’s vision.

“Warriors of Asgard! _To me_ ,” Loki ordered. The expectation laid clear in the scathing rage barely concealed behind his bright eyes, a sneer twisting his thin lips. Drunk with power. The Warriors Three sheathed their weapons and moved toward their false king.

“Agents of Midgard,” Loki roared, his eyes ever scanning the battlefield. He straightened his posture, raising his chin, exposing his neck and lifting his free hand, palm skyward in a show of peace. “I am Loki. King of Asgard. And I mean to have words with your commander.”

“Hold fire!” someone called.

The Warriors Three came to stand next to Sif, arrayed before the usurper. Volstagg and Fandral kneeled. Then Hogun.

“Now we’re in for it,” Fandral muttered. He smelled of singed hair. His breastplate and face carried the scuffs and burns of an explosion.

“My king,” Volstagg uttered in greeting, fist over his heart. A fletched shaft protruded from where pauldron and back plate met. Hogun’s bare upper arms carried scratches from the mortals’ weak handheld projectile units. Cowards’ weapons.

“My loyal warriors,” Loki drawled. “I assume you have located my brother.”

“Yes, your highness,” Fandral said, not an ounce of mockery in his tone. “They hold him beyond.”

The dark prince paid him little mind, his pale eyes boring into Sif’s. She remained resolute. She would not quail. Beneath her boot the boy whimpered, and she pressed down, affirming her dominance. Loki’s gaze drifted down the length of her body and then back up again.

“Release him.”

The order rolled off his tongue in a rumbling growl. Reluctantly, Sif obeyed. As soon as she lifted pressure from her boot her mortal opponent scrambled backward and away from all five aesir. The agent found his feet and backed away cautiously.

“ _Kneel_ ,” the usurper snarled, teeth bared like a feral, desperate beast. Sif felt a force on her shoulders and her knees buckled beneath the weight of his command. Gungnir made him too powerful. Sif dropped hard onto her left knee. Something cracked.

“These mortals dare to hold the Prince of Asgard captive,” Sif shouted. Fandral sucked in a breath. Silence dropped like a wet cloak. All around them the midgardians tended to their dead and wounded. After several heartbeats Loki rolled his eyes and made a tsking sound in the back of his throat.

“Did you bother to discover why?” he asked, so calm it was unnerving. “Thor has, true to form, blundered about like a rock troll. He has broken their laws, damaged property and been an inconvenience to those kind enough to grant him shelter. What did you hope to accomplish with this siege?”

“To bring him home as _you_ should have done days ago!”

Loki took a step back, chuffing an amused little breath. “And then what?” he asked, his eyes wide and a laugh rumbling at the edge of his words. “Has it not occurred to you that the Allfather grows weary of these escapades? What is your grand plan for when he awakens? Will you commit treason against him, as well, for Thor’s sake?”

“ _If_ he awakens, you mean?”

Sif noted the tightening of Loki’s jaw as he swallowed a virulent rebuttal. A trio of mortals approached the aesir with a brisk pace.

“Hi there,” the man on point said, extending a hand as Loki stepped forward to face them. “I’m Agent Phil Coulson.” He and the man at his right wore the same uninspired black uniforms. The one on the left, an archer, at least, looked the part of a warrior, dressed in functional cuts of leather, though he too lacked any protective gear. Did Midgard not have armor smiths? Were they so primitive and outdated? “I’m in charge here. Loki, was it?”

Loki nodded, ignored the offered appendage. “Ah, yes, Agent Coulson. A pleasure, I am certain.”

Coulson raised a brow, withdrawing his greeting. He clasped his hands in front of him in a rigid stance. A mortal could not compare to even so lissome an aesir. The second son radiated menace.

“Can we cut the crap?” Coulson asked tersely. “Your people killed my people and we’re talking now because you’re packing some nasty tech. What do you want?”

Sif suppressed a smile. This Agent Coulson had heart.

“I will cut to the quick, then,” Loki replied. “You hold in your custody a citizen of Asgard. My brother, Thor Odinson, and two of his mortal companions. You will release them. Then your organization will both disassemble this little camp and relinquish a certain Cube into my care. Are my terms clear enough, agent?”

The son of Coul looked as though he swallowed his tongue.

Sif could not help the hope that flared at the sound of Loki’s curt tone, that perhaps his jealousy for Thor had limits. The dark prince struck a critical blow if the size of Agent Coulson’s eyes hinted to anything.

“Okay. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot here,” Coulson said. “We should discuss this little impasse in private. Please. In the meantime your people will respect our ceasefire. Can I trust that they’ll comply?”

“You hold my brother’s life in your hands, Agent Coulson.” Loki glanced at Sif and the Warriors Three. He smiled coldly. “I am certain, now that I have made my intentions known, they will allow us a chance at civility before there is further bloodshed.”

Sif glanced to Hogun and Fandral. Volstagg grunted his assent.

“As you will, my king.”

“For Asgard.”

Loki smirked, indifferent to their oath. His right hand flexed, fingers splayed at his side and fisted just as quick. The weight settled into Sif’s muscles, her bones. Her stomach roiled at the sense of violation, as her very body stiffened into a prison. She could still feel the dry air on her skin, the scent of earth and sky and the trickle of sweat that beaded down her spin. But she could not scratch the itch at the base of her neck. She could not adjust the rock beneath her boot.

She could cry for how he tainted her trust in seidhr, corrupting his mother’s gift.

“Please, follow me.”

“Of course, Agent Coulson. However, before we relocate would you mind terribly if my mortal envoy joined us? I am rather out of touch with this Realm, I’m afraid.”

“Uh huh…” The agent frowned a moment. “No, I suppose that would be alright.”

Loki’s lips stretched into a thin, predatory smile. “Excellent. I believe you and she are already well acquainted.” Loki turned, looking back from whence he came and called out. “Doctor Foster!”

From atop the hill, behind a grotesquerie of a horseless carriage, came a little cry.

“Um, yes?”

“Please, will you join us?”

“Oh! Uh,… yeah, sure!”

“Seriously?” Coulson asked. “Jane Foster is your ‘mortal envoy’?”

Loki’ s grin only widened. “Indeed. Is there a problem, agent?”

A small mortal female, a clumsy little creature, picked her way down the hill side. She wore trousers and a drab oversized coat in a cut that would pass perhaps for a vagrant back in Asgard. No lady and certainly no warrior, she visibly paled at the sight of a bloody corpse lying prostrate in the dirt. She gingerly hedged around it, looking to be sick at a moment’s notice until she focused on Loki. She came to stand next to him, her small stature barely meeting his shoulders and only there in his shadow did her spine find some steel.

“Wow. Okay, this is crazy. _Really_ crazy _.”_

She took a breath. And then…

“I have to ask. Was that disintegration a result of electromagnetic radiation? Gosh, I didn’t think it would be so, so… literal!”

Loki slowly turned to regard her. He cocked his head to the side, sincerely perplexed by the woman’s sudden torrent.

“I… beg your pardon?”

“How did this thing generate a pulse of that magnitude?” she babbled. She almost dared touch Gungnir.  “I’m going to hazard a guess that it was gamma radiation. Why is your skin not melting off?”

“Doctor Foster –”

“It’s gotta be like a tiny reactor… Stop me if I’m off base here. This isn’t my field, but that was so, so… ”

“Doctor Foster –”

“I mean this… _thing!_ Gosh, it’s gorgeous! And there’s _nothing_ to it. I’ve got all these theories but without some tests…”

She placed her hand on his shoulder. Just under the plate. Her utter lack of propriety was appalling. A peasant simply did not touch a prince of Asgard without invitation.

“I believe you. This is totally crazy, and Erik is going to kill me, but I don’t care. Once I get my equipment back and we find a suitable power source –”

“Jane Foster! _I_ am the power source.”

“You’re kidding! I’m sorry, but that’s just…” She stared into Loki’s scowling face. She did not move her hand. And then a slow smile spread even as she shook her head. “Oh! You’re _serious_. Fine! I believe that too, but you’re proving it. You _have_ to show me. _Everything_. I’m not giving you a choice. You owe me.”

 “Doctor Foster, we meet again,” the Son of Coul interrupted her twittering with a tiny smirk. “It seems you’ve moved up in the world. Your… friend here named you his advisor?”

A pink blush crept up her cheeks, suddenly aware of all the eyes that followed her. She looked up at Loki, and when she found no answers in his blank expression, she screwed her gaze to the agent. She crossed her arms.

“So it would seem, Agent Coulson.” She held her chin high, fighting to keep the tremble from her voice. “I’m not leaving here without my stuff.”

Loki looked down his slim nose to the top of her tousled little head and chuckled. Too genuine. Too familiar. Like he actually enjoyed the uncouth little creature.

The agent’s smile melted. “Right.” He swallowed. “Shall we?”

The usurper focused on the Coulson. “By all means, agent, lead the way.”

The instant Coulson turned his back a simper curved Jane Foster’s pink lips. She brazenly touched the second son’s arm, again, and he paused to consider her. The little woman stood on the tips of her toes.

“Why me?” she asked quiet and conspiratorial.

“Did you not see the look on your dear agent’s face?” he murmured in reply. “I expected you to be more observant, doctor.”

She flushed again and ducked her head with a little shrug, a nervous creature for certain. In league with Thor’s spiteful little brother. No. Sif did not trust this Jane Foster at all.

“Come,” he said. “I have a fool to liberate and you...”

“Yeah…,” Foster said softly. She looked so sincere. “Thank you.”

The small party walked away, leaving the archer as sentry, and disappeared into the labyrinth beyond. The aesir left kneeling in the dirt, forgotten. There they remained, frozen in an impressive tableau of false obedience to an unworthy king, like mummers upon a stage.

Sif looked to the plastic warren, her goal so close in sight. Thor remained a prisoner, now utterly dependent on Loki and his strange little mortal ally.

“This has gone splendidly,” Fandral muttered. Hogun grunted, no doubt trying to move.

“It is no use,” Sif said. “He is determined to humiliate us.”

“Perhaps he has cause.” Volstagg sighed. “He could do worse. May yet still.”

Fandral chortled, though when he spoke his voice rang hollow. “Do you imagine he will allow Tyr to preside over our trial?”

“Does it matter?” Hogun asked.

“It would be quick, at least.”

The night lay black, oppressively so, beyond the sterile whiteness of the encampment,  a far cry from the bright glittering expanses of Asgard. Sif’s heart ached to imagine Thor waking in this dark ugly little planet, powerless and lost.

“I just wish Loki had pulled this damn arrow from my shoulder first,” Volstagg said. He groaned pitiably. “And a meal would have been nice.”

“How can you think of food now?” Fandral asked. “We’re… forbidden to move!”

“It’s your smell, to be honest. Reminds me of roasting goat.”

“Why thank you. Yes. I’ll remember to dodge that one’s arrows in the future…”

The mortal archer snickered then, a smug smile curving his lips.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

Fandral laughed good-naturedly and suggested they share a mug of mead, but Sif doubted in the archer’s sincerity. The minutes trickled painfully slow as the mortals scurried at their peripherals like frightened hares. It was unwise to speak before the enemy. They lapsed into a strategic silence and waited.


	8. Lokasenna

They stepped through a curtain of clear plastic strips into the temporary tunnel network. Tubes and light were piped along the upper most part of the archway, high enough that Loki need not duck once he dismissed the helm. The air carried a scent of closed artifice corresponding with the hollow cast of fluorescent light. Their footfalls clanged against the dark metal catwalks, just wide enough for two men to pass. A labyrinth of synthetic craftsmanship.

Two battered agents fell in step behind Loki’s coat tails and Jane Foster recoiled at the sight of them, their wounds and weapons plain to see. Hostility beneath a thin veneer of professional detachment.

“Is this really necessary?” she demanded. She was a creature devoid of duplicity, allowing her emotions to play across her face and leap from her throat with nary a thought. Coulson glanced over his shoulder, bemused smirk pinching the corner of his mouth.

 “We like precautions,” he said.

Foster sidled much too close, forcing Loki to adjust his stride to accommodate her invasion of space. Near enough that he could smell the trace of fear and feel the heat from her little body. He had not prepared to be the recipient of her trust on the simple merit of being golden Thor’s little brother.

Agent Coulson led them into a white paneled room. To the left Loki observed agents staring into the blue glow of their displays. He remembered this place, in an increasing haze. Had he not seen Thor in one of those metal chairs? Did he not pass through that set of glass doors in hiding? Once…

A delicate moth to flame, Thor’s woman paused at the door, her hand on the frame. She stared into their data, shaking her head with wonder. A thrall to the inflexible magic Midgard called science.

“Look at those signatures…” she gasped. “That must be from the other bridge!” She cast a glance at Loki. Smiled nervously and mouthed the word ‘Bifrost’ with quivering glee.

The staid mortal analyzing the data looked to Coulson for confirmation before answering her question. Coulson shook his head.

 “It’s classified,” the agent said, turning his screen.

Jane Foster puffed an indignant little breath, propping her hands on her hips, the too large coat swallowing her fingers. “So you can steal my research but won’t share yours? Nice. That’s real nice.”

“Please, this way, Doctor Foster.”

The escorts hedged her through the door before closing it behind her. They remained on the other side, outside the conversation but still present. As though their presence mattered at all.

“What do you call it, anyways,” she asked, suddenly, “the act of it ‘opening’ and ‘closing’?”

Loki considered her, smirking all the while. A thrall indeed.

“My, you are voracious,” Loki drawled. “What do you suppose we call it, Doctor Foster?”

“Shall we?” Agent Coulson interrupted. Doctor Foster harrumphed. Oh, she loathed to be thwarted, this little mortal. No one took a seat. Loki preferred idle pacing to stagnation. “King of Asgard, huh?”

Loki conceded with nod. “While my father rests, I speak with his authority in all matters.”

“Seems to me that you’re having a little trouble controlling your own. I know insubordination when I see it.”

“This situation is rather unbecoming. There’s been some disagreement on how to proceed with my father’s last decree.”

“Which has to do with this Thor?”

“Quite. Odin, banished him. Thor’s companions do not agree. They wish to see him return home, while the honor – and the curse – of upholding the law has fallen to me. The acting king.”

“Banished? So your dad uses our planet for space time out? Thanks.”

Loki smirked. “I suppose that appears rather…”

“Arrogant?”

“Take a care how you speak, mortal. While I feel indulgent at present, I am still a king.”

“Your warriors killed two of my men. Six are in critical condition and in need of medevac. Ten more are wounded…”

“Whoa…” Foster dropped unceremoniously into one of the stiff chairs. “This is all just….” Her voice faded away.

“Truly a testament to their training that it was not more.”

Coulson frowned. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Loki paused, and considered the agent with an incredulous frown. “Well. Yes, actually.”

“Funny,” Coulson responded with a tight smile. “It doesn’t.”

Loki tilted his head, measuring the agent’s tone and baring. This was nothing new. After centuries of rhetoric, he recognized the sanctimonious mantle heroes so readily girded themselves in. They judged action, while holding themselves only for their intentions. Hypocrisy balanced on the edge of a sword.

“Spare me the self-righteous discourse. You are an agent in service to a clandestine organization of liars and killers. _If_ your men could kill mine they would have without compunction. You are hold my brother, a son of Odin, captive. Surely you appreciate that such action could attract a… reaction.”

“He attacked our compound…”

“To retrieve property you unlawfully appropriated.”

“The satellite?”

“Mjolnir,” Loki corrected patiently. “And you did not stop there.”

Loki motioned to Foster. Up to this point, the woman remained relatively quiet. Her knees were drawn together, and she leaned forward in attention, her forearms resting on her thighs.   “Doctor Foster, if you would be so kind as to acquaint Agent Coulson to your own list of grievances. It was terribly long.”

She straightened with a sniff.

“I would be glad to,” she said. Thor’s woman sucked in a breath, like a dragon preparing to unleash a flesh rending blast.

“That won’t be necessary,” Agent Coulson offered quickly.

“Good,” Loki said. “Then you will return every sheet of parchment, every scrap of equipment that you absconded from Doctor Foster’s lab.”

“I will strongly suggest it to my superiors. But before I do, I have to ask how you….” Coulson glanced at Doctor Foster, his words halting.

“Best to speak your mind, Agent Coulson for I shall not send her away.”

“How do you know about the Cube?”

“I am a god.”

“I believe more in the idea of a security leak.”

“Power calls to power, Agent Coulson. I can hear her.”

“Her?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “The Tesseract.”

“Right. Suppose I believe you. Why should we just give you our chance at universal clean energy?”

“What?” Jane Foster breathed. Loki shot her a glance and she pursed her lips, sealing away her voice. Inquisitive desire burned in her amber eyes all the same.

Loki chuffed. “You see the Tesseract as a power source when in truth she is a siren. Sentient. Willful. She seduces those seeking to wield her with glimpses of power. Only the strongest can resist, and even then, only for a short while. Too lay hands upon her…”

Loki quivered at even the hint of a memory. Power. Terrifying. Heartbreaking. Sublime.

“She calls out across uncountable universe to forces you could not fathom. Trust this burden to Asgard, where we may readily guard her from entities that would use her power for so much more than a warm light.”

“You think we’re not capable of defending ourselves?”

Loki wet his lips, the dry air chafing. “I _know_ you aren’t.”

“Is that a threat?”

Oh, yes. If only they knew what lurked in the expanses beyond their limited little azure sphere.

“A statement of fact.”

Coulson glowered, but he said little more. His conviction allowed for consideration. Admirable. If only aesir could be so practical. Coulson ran a hand over his receding hair line.

“I’m going to need to phone all this in to my superiors,” Coulson said, adjusting his tie. His voice lost some of its previous bite. “If you’ll excuse me, your highness. Doctor Foster.”

“Of course, agent.”

Coulson tipped his head in the mockery of a bow. A far cry from proper deference. The door closed behind the agent, leaving Loki alone with Thor’s little woman. Beyond the floor to ceiling glass wall, the mortals continued with their work. Loki recalled Doctor Selvig mustered a similar team, with similar equipment in the quest to harness the Tesseract. Something in the numbers on those screens allowed them to accept truths. Mortals lacked intuition.

Doctor Foster watched them mutely. Her previous vigor fled. Hugging herself, she suppressed a visible shudder. Cold, tired, stressed. All the signs were present.

“Thank you.”

Doctor Foster held her breath, waiting for a response. He said nothing.

“I still don’t want to get my hopes up,” she said. “They might choose to do nothing. And I still think none of this would have happened if your brother hadn’t dropped out of the sky. But thank you anyway. For trying. For being in my corner. Or for letting me be in yours, I guess.”

Loki blinked. No ridicule. No sarcasm. Just… gratitude.

“You are welcome.”

A weighted pause followed, but Jane Foster did not allow the silence to prevail. “So. If you can’t bring Thor home what do you plan to do?”

 Loki embellished a sigh. “There is nothing I can do, I am afraid. Curses are a tangled form of magic best not trifled with.”

Foster’s gaze flittered about the room, settling on him and then flicking away quickly whenever he looked at her. “You probably need to find a place for him to stay.”

He shrugged. “The Allfather believes in learning through hardship.”

She chewed her lip, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. Like a small child coveting the bauble on a high shelf, she struggled to find a way to reach her prize, or how to even voice her request. She wanted… something. “So… you’re just going to abandon him?”

“And leave my brother to suffer?” he asked, adopting a classically Asgardian tone laced with bravado. “What would mother think?”

Jane Foster smiled, nodding.

“He can stay with me,” she offered. “In the lab, but…” she took a breath, gathering her courage. “But it’s going to cost you.”

“How…unexpected,” he replied archly. Jane Foster, it seemed, was not the moral paragon he assumed her to be. He stared at her a long moment. “Your price, Doctor Foster?”

She chewed her lip.

“You.”

Loki lifted a single brow. “I beg your pardon?”

“That came out… wrong.” She swallowed. “I want your _help_. My intern is a political science major, for Pete’s sake! When I talk about lens flares and Einstein-Rosen Bridges and the electromagnetic spectrum your eyes don’t glaze over.”

“I am a master of magic, Doctor Foster. Passing curiosity does not equate to fluid understanding of your ‘science’.”

His dismissive comment did not evoke the desired reaction. She stared into his eyes, intent and unflinching and grinned so brightly that the apples of her cheeks warmed. “Magic’s just science that we don’t understand yet.”

She rose from her seat.

“I told you earlier I wanted answers,” she said. She moved toward him, a woman possessed. “At first, I thought that Thor’s knowledge of being inside the Bifrost would be enough. But now? The things you say… All that talk tonight about topographical points and magic and multiverses. You say all these crazy, impossible, beautiful things and I… I _want_ to believe you.”

“It isn’t about believing Doctor Foster, but knowing.”

 “See? That’s why I need you.”

“I have a Realm to rule, doctor. I do not have time -”

She lifted her chin. “Then he’s on his own. And you can tell your mom that you left your brother homeless.”

Loki shifted his jaw, struggling to remain magnanimous. He _needed_ Jane Foster to _fix_ Thor. He _needed_ her to lure Thor away from the High Seat and Asgard. Loki _needed_ her to stop being so insufferably stubborn.

“Don’t look at me like that!” she huffed, brazen with intent. “He’s not some golden retriever! Okay. So he’s blond, and kinda sweet in a clumsy way and, dammit, he _is_ cute but – all I’m asking for is a little compensation here. An exchange of services. Thor has a place to stay, and I get unrestricted access to new scientific information.”

She folded her arms over her chest, her frame swimming in that hideous jacket, and stared up at him with the most defiant scowl he ever chanced to see on so delicate a face. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

“I am a king,” he growled. “There are responsibilities, several in fact, that require my attention. I must return to Asgard.”

“You seem clever, so you’re just gonna have to work something out.”

The sheer audacity of her.

“I want you here,” she blathered on, “once a week for a full day. That’s a solid 24 hours, Loki. To share your experience. Your theories. Your magic. God, _especially_ your magic. I want every scrap of information you can throw at me.”

Oh, he had _scraps_ to throw at her. Most certainly. Instead he smirked and asked; “You are certain you will not be moved in this? Thor could assist with your matters of ‘science’. He studied under the same tutors…”

“Thor never talked about magic.”

“Well, no. He is a warrior in the most classic sense, but that -”

“Then I’m _very_ certain,” she said, cutting him off. She smiled demurely. “Your highness.”

Was she trying to flatter him now, or humor him? Insufferable, as a definition, did not do Jane Foster sufficient justice. Loki huffed through his nose. “Very well. When will you consider this transaction concluded?”

Foster grinned, no doubt smelling the pending victory and shrugged rather flippantly. “When your brother can lift his hammer. I guess.” She made a face, this strange cross between a toothy grin and a grimace, overcome with a sudden thought. “I hope it takes him a while!”

Coulson returned before Loki could respond to the ruthless little creature.

“Yes,” he said, by way of greeting. Midgard sorely lacked in manners or decorum. “Yes to Odinson, Selvig and Lewis. They’re being flown in now. Yes to calling off our tail. Effective 15 minutes ago. Yes to the return of Doctor Foster’s research and equipment.”

Jane Foster squealed. “Thank you!”

“We’re already preparing it for transport. And, there’s one more thing… SHIELD wishes to fund your research. It was impressive. We wish to see it continued, indefinitely.”

Her mouth gapped. “I… thank you! Thank you. But I’m sorry… I can’t accept it. After all _this_ …”

“Please. Think about it.”

She nodded. “No promises.”

Coulson handed her a card pinched between two fingers. “Call me,” he said and then turned his full attention to Loki.

“We’ve granted you every concession as a sign of good faith. But Director Fury says we won’t give up the Tesseract. Not without a fight.”

How very disappointing.

“He wants to meet you. He asked me to relay that, if your intentions between Asgard and… Midgard are peaceful, then he wants to talk about a potential alliance.”

“I will consider it, Agent Coulson.”  It could have gone worse, all things considered. He would need to consider his next move carefully. “When can I see my brother?”

* * *

 

The helicopter arrived within the hour.

They escorted Jane Foster to another office despite her protests, leaving Loki to wait. The details ironed out with the Coulson. All that remained now was to ensure Thor would cooperate. That he would stay with Jane Foster and undergo the miraculous metamorphosis of _before_.

Loki turned to face the door when he heard the shuffle of feet. Thor entered the interrogation room, and the agents closed the door behind him.

Thor looked lesser in the strange orange costume of plain cotton weave. They cut his hair, like a slave. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. Why had Heimdall not shared this? Had this truly been part of Odin’s plan?

“Loki?”

Thor’s voice was thick with emotion and words left unsaid. Loki stood still as Thor closed the distance between them with three great strides and placed his hands on Loki’s shoulders. His blue eyes were misted over and Thor swallowed before he could speak. “When they told me someone had spoken on my behalf I… It is good to see you, brother.”

“I had to ensure your safety,” Loki said. “Mother worries.”

Thor offered a weak, hopeful smile.

“And our father?”

Loki schooled his features and steeled himself.

“I am afraid I bring difficult news,” he said gravely. “Father has fallen into the Odinsleep.”

Thor’s face fell, and Loki’s heart with it.

As boys Thor ate his sweet rolls so quick Loki swore he stuffed them into a seam of seidhr. The elder prince would turn that sullen gaze upon Loki’s portion and that look, that damn look…

“Have mine, brother,” Loki always said. “I find them much too sweet.”

Thor would smile brightly, clapping a large paw on Loki’s slim shoulder with a nod of thanks. Loki lived for those moments of gratitude, once. Thor devoured the sacrificed morsel quick as the rest and ran off to play, leaving Loki to chase his shadow.

The chef caught Loki, only once, stealing another roll from the kitchens. Loki masked his presence but not his sound. Odin’s punishment started with a long scathing chat about the ills of greed and selfishness of gluttony and the disgrace in theft. It ended after Loki suffered three days without even a scrap food.

Mother, gentle, compassionate mother, reassured him, easing the sentence with the gift of learning. She revealed the threads that manipulated sound.

“Casting you from Asgard weakened him,” Loki explained. “I am told that mother’s ire… and my injuries… did not help matters. She fears he may never wake.”

“I had hoped…”

“I am sorry, Thor.”

“Can I come home?”

Loki raised a hand, halting the jubilant thoughts. “I cannot overturn the Allfather’s decree.”

Thor scowled. “Cannot or will not, brother?”

As easy as that, the sense of camaraderie crumbled.  Loki narrowed his eyes. “If I free you prematurely he will banish us both when he wakes. What…” Loki began. He ran a hand through his hair, for once at a loss. “What have you been doing here? Almost six days, Thor! This was but a simple test. You _should_ have come home by now.”

“Simple? For you, perhaps.” Thor smiled bitterly. “And I assure you, brother. It has felt much, much longer than six days. Time slips by like water in this weak coil.”

Like mortal lives, the days were shorter on Midgard. Doctor Foster complained of a passage of weeks… Something had changed between Jotunheim and what ought to have transpired here in this wasteland of Midgard. Loki missed something…forgotten or overlooked some significant event. How could he have altered Thor’s fate from a Healing Room? Why had he not stayed with Jane Foster? “This is not right!”

“I have done nothing wrong! _Nothing_ that he himself has not done. Father said I was vain, greedy, and cruel. Do you think me these things, brother?”

Yes, Thor. We all are.

 “There must yet be a way for you to prove your worth.”

“Simple for the one sitting on my throne,” Thor growled. “What do _you_ know of punishment or suffering?”

Loki swallowed his rage. A sense of something dark squatted at the edge of his memories, twisted and hazy. He knew suffering. Very well. But how he knew…  

“My time is short, Thor. I have secured your release and shelter.”

“Loki… don’t do this. Please take me home…”

“I have done all that I can. You are to remain with Doctor Foster. Assist her however you can.”

“Lady Jane?” Thor asked. He paused in his pleas and allowed himself a smile. He could do worse for company.

“The very one. She has agreed to shelter you until you can retrieve Mjolnir.”

“And how am I to do that? I defeated the mortals guarding it and still it would not be moved.”

“Perhaps you cannot punch your way out of this problem. Learn Humility. Altruism. Kindness. Turn the Allfather’s assessment of your character into a lie.”

Thor grumbled a curse. “I am kind! Always have I shown greater concern for Asgard than myself. And humility? I am willing to admit that Sif is better with a blade. That Volstagg can hold more mead. Fandral, more women. Do I not?”

Loki lowered his brow to his fingertips and drew a breath.

“I am required in Asgard,” he replied, voice tight. “Sif and the Warriors Three have committed treason. Their trial demands my attention. And the petitioners no doubt -”

“Treason?

“Indeed,” Loki answered. “They came and waged war upon a defenseless realm in defiance of the Allfather’s will. And my own.”

Thor’s eyes widened. “Loki, they are our brethren!”

 _Your_ brethren. Never mine.

“And? They have defied their king!”

“You cannot mean to punish them? Not to the full extent.”

“Oh?” Loki imagined the swing of the axe, and Sif’s pretty dark head rolling. Once he may have cared. Once he may have gladly traded his life for hers. His foolish sentimentality long since cured, thank the Norns.

“Grant them a chance to explain,” Thor said. “You owe them that much, at very least.”

He gave them a chance, damn it. He agreed to ascertain Thor’s safety. Loki refrained from indulging in past mistakes. And still, s _till,_ they defied him. Still they circumvented his rule with the aid of the ever loyal gatekeeper. “What path would you take if you stood in my stead?”

“I would consider their intentions. They only meant to help me.”

Again with an inconsistent consideration of intention versus action. They condemned _him_ for his methods. Loki ground his teeth and weight settled in his brow. “You can’t be serious….”

“They would have done the same for you,” Thor parried glibly.

Loki awoke in a sunny room in Lyfjaberg, dust motes drifting on the shafts of light.  He found the queen resting her head upon folded arms on his bed. A burning relief and appreciation welled in his chest and throat at the sight of her. When he touched her silken hair she woke. She smiled through unshed tears.

“My son,” mother said. She cupped his cheek. “My king.”

He received Gungnir moments later, before he even properly dressed. He sat the High Seat and took his first petitioner - a resident vanir going on about a drunk hill giant and a stolen goat- before the heralds could proclaim their new king. His chest still in bandages beneath the finery.

No ceremony in the Hall of Asgard. No feast or euphoric masses. Just dear mother and a row of kneeling einherjar to bear witness to his lawful ascension.

“Make your father proud,” she said. How she smiled. As though such a thing were possible for him. Now he understood that mother, at least, believed it. She always believed it. She would die believing it.

Where were his shield brothers? No doubt crying in their mead cups for poor, lost Thor.

At least, this time, the panicked desperation to prove himself a true son of Odin became blissfully absent, leaving but a keen desire to simply be _enough_.

“Allow me to speak with them,” Thor asked. “Please, Loki.”

That look. That damn look… Try as he might to fight it, sentiment, accursed sentiment ruled him. Still.

“Of course.”


	9. Pull Out of this State Dear

Thor found them, kneeling, cowed and compliant in the dirt. A mortal in leather armor stood over them, a bow slung over his shoulder, a quiet sentry. Bleeding from scrapes and wounds sustained in the attempted rescue, the darkness of Midgard pressing in above their bowed heads.

A man could not ask for finer companions. How could Loki treat their friends thus, after all they endured together?

“My friends,” Thor said. They looked up at the sound of his voice. They did not rise to embrace him, and Thor’s smile faltered. The archer moved away a few paces.

“Thor?” Fandral asked, flexing a hand. Hogun and Volstagg shared a look.

Sif stared at him, her mouth agape. “What have they done to you?”

“They feared my intentions were sinister,” Thor explained. “And then they thought that perhaps I was mad.”

“Their memories are short,” Loki said. “They thought themselves alone.”

“They are fools,” Sif growled. “How dare they place hands upon a Prince of Asgard!”

“They will make amends,” Loki replied crisply. He carried not a single cut. No bruises marred his delicate features. He looked resplendent, in fact.

Thor allowed a smile to come to his lips. “Yes, you have wrangled an apology and my freedom. Well done, brother.”

Volstagg cast a glance to Sif. “We… are happy to see you free,” he said with a solemn nod of his head.

“I am certain,” Loki said, circling round them like a prowling wolf. His voice grew ever more discordant, hardening to steel. “I realize that intelligence has little place in your tactics, but would you four care to know what I discovered during my parley?”

“That Thor was not here,” Hogun concluded. They still did not rise.

“Indeed,” Loki replied. His mouth twisted with derision. “When pray tell, did it become our custom to bring strife to realms beneath our protection? Will you pick on children next? Steal some candy, perhaps?”

 “Loki,” Thor cautioned. Loki glared at him, a look of warning if ever he saw one. At once Thor wondered how he would muzzle Loki’s sharp tongue in this pathetic form.

“Heimdall…” Fandral began.

“Is a traitor,” Loki parried, “and there will be just recompense for his hand in this defiance.”

“The Gatekeeper lost sight of you,” Sif said to Thor, eyes wide and blue and bright. Her lips pulled into a grim line. She sounded so desperate. “We despaired.”

“Warriors of Asgard do not despair, Lady Sif,” Thor said. Then, more gently. “You have all worked together to ensure my freedom as ever you have done. You all have my thanks.”

“Would that it had been sooner. If Loki had done as we asked days ago…”

Loki chuffed a laugh. “Honestly, Sif. I have a kingdom to set right. I came as soon as my responsibilities could allow…”

“He dallied for two entire days, pandering to councilors and the nobility.”

“Sif,” Loki chided. He took a step toward her, casting a cursory glance to the mortals around them. He smirked. “Now is not the time.”

She fell silent and sullen.

“Yes, brother,” Thor said. “How terrible it must be to lounge on the High Seat.”

Loki turned an incredulous stare upon Thor, eyes wide and glistening.

“What?” Loki asked, his slender hands balling into fists. “Do you _really_ think this easy? We are at war, in case you’ve forgotten! The needs of our people have not simply ceased during your banishment.”

Thor’s brow softened. It pained his great heart to see his brother so stressed by the demands of a throne that should never have been his. He looked into Loki’s pained, earnest face and saw there the danger of allowing ergi to take the High Seat. Too emotional, too capricious. Queens do not rule for good reason, and Loki echoed too much of mother. Why had she indulged him so?

Thor needed to regain Mjolnir. There could be no greater indication that Odin’s rule dragged on too long now that Asgard came to _this_.

“Fear not, brother,” he replied, smiling and speaking with what he hoped to be his most cavalier tone. He smacked Loki’s back in solace. For the first time his brother did not wince from the action. “I will find a way to ease these burdens from your shoulders.”

Loki jerked back, bright eyes hardening into shards of ocean ice. His thin lips twisted into a vicious sneer.

“You _still_ think me unfit, brother?” he asked, tone smooth and deceptively even. It did not mask the rage quivering just beneath his skin.

“Loki, I did not mean –”

And then Thor flew. Thrown by his little brother, tossed backwards several meters to sprawl in the dirt. Sif cried out his name.

“Pray” Loki said, Gungnir forming in his hand as Thor scrambled to find his feet, “I do not judge your friends as hastily.”

The acting king raised the gold spear skyward and with a crack the Bifrost snapped open over them, scorching white, ripping them all skyward before Sif or the Warrior’s Three could utter even a farewell.

Thor gave a wordless cry. The agents of Midgard shouted out in shock. Some cheered. Another bellowed about scanners hitting a roof. Thor stared just beyond his feet, dumbfounded, at the impression burnt into the sand. He blinked.

Loki need not even call to Heimdall anymore.

Like father, and grandfather, he held the power to manipulate the Bifrost from the battlefield, his addiction to seidhr amplified by the ancient spear. Just as mother had foretold.

Thor spit out dirt and considered her words a warning now.

“That was _incredible_!”

The sound of running feet and breathless wonder brought him back to the dry midgardian desert. He found bright-eyed Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis and Erik Selvig staring up into the sky.

Jane Foster laughed. She actually laughed.

“I doubt that’s ever gonna get old.”

“Nope,” Darcy agreed. Selvig’s gaze drifted from the sky down to the burnt knot work. He frowned.

“I think it’s different from the first,” he said.

“He mentioned it wasn’t a permanent point,” Jane replied, skirting the edge of the pattern. “Do you think these patterns could be unique? Like snowflakes or fingerprints? Look here!”

Behind Jane Foster, Agent Coulson approached, only slightly less effected by the spectacle.

“Your brother and I ironed out the details,” Coulson said. “You’re free to go, so long as you keep your nose clean. Respect ‘Midgard’s’ laws, and we’ll respect you.”

“The details?” Thor asked, somewhat numb.

“You’re staying with Jane Foster. He was pretty insistent on that. And if,” Coulson looked at Jane, “she accepts our assistance then we’ll also cover your expenses.”

“And you do as he asks? Without question?”

“All things considered? I’m willing to see how this all plays out. Doctor Foster?”

“Right,” Jane said, snapped out of her reverie.

“Please. Think about what I said. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said. She looked to Thor, and motioned for him to follow her. “Come on, let’s get back.”

Jane guided Thor, Erik and Darcy through a hole in the fence, no doubt placed by the blast of a spear. Upon the bluff he noticed the parked Pinz. They climbed the hill, his shoulder burning where the skin had scrapped raw against the dirt.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” Jane said.

Thor offered a simple thanks and a nod of his head. They entered the pinz and strapped in without a word. Jane broke the silence only after she stared the contraption. Thor closed his eyes.

“So… who’s hungry?” she asked, lightly. “I might still be able to get some pizza… or some hot dogs from the 7 Eleven?”

“I would kill for one of Izzy’s breakfast platters…” Selvig offered with a weary smile.

Jane smiled warmly. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“They so owe us…” Darcy said. She folded her arms over her chest. “They better hope I don’t sue for wrongful imprisonment.”

“You did forge a government document…” Jane pointed out, shifting the vehicle into drive.

“Because you _begged_ me too! That makes you my accomplice. You _should_ have been in there right next to me.”

“But I wasn’t,” Jane said. The pinz rattled back onto the road. Thor strained to hear them over the cacophony of gravel and jostling equipment. “Why is that?”

“Duh. No one likes a tattletale.”

Jane smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, Darcy.”

Darcy Lewis grinned. “No problem, boss lady. But if you decide to take SHIELDs offer then I expect a fat paycheck. Credits aren’t enough. I want danger pay. Erik too.”

Jane frowned.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to ask back there,” she said. “What with them actually agreeing to release you all. What happened? Where did they take you?”

“Some basement complex. We were separated. Three square a day. And a daily visitor for… chats.”

“They placed me in a white cell,” Thor added. “It was… different from what I am accustomed. And very cold.” He ran a hand through his shorn hair. How had they known that so simple an action could be so humiliating? The disgrace of capture had been enough. Lies were not in Thor’s blood. He had no companions to protect. The truth poured free from this lips.

Whether the men of SHIELD believed him, or not, mattered little.

Until now.

Jane Foster gasped. “What?”

“There was no sound. No colour. And they never turned extinguished the lights.”

“Whoa,” Darcy said. “Sensory deprivation? I thought only Iran pulled stuff like that…”

“Erik? Darcy? Tell me they didn’t…”

“They didn’t torture us, Jane,” Erik said, a soothing paternal rhythm to his tone. “Though who knows what they would have done if we were stuck there any longer. They asked questions. A lot of questions…”

“I would call the food torture,” Darcy added. “They grilled me about school and what the heck I was doing all the way out here… You know, when my life is held under a microscope it looks pretty dull.”

“It is not surprising,” Thor said. A warrior _knows_ such things.

“It’s barbaric,” Jane stated firmly.

Women of magic were so lost in their weavings that they did not see life as it was. He minded his irritation and replied with the grace of a true prince of Asgard. “It is a known risk, Lady Jane. All warriors must accept this when they set foot on the field of battle.”

“Uh huh.” Jane Foster kept her eyes firmly planted on the road. “Well… as long as you’re all okay, I guess.”

“Maybe… maybe they held back because our stories didn’t change,” Erik said. “These SHIELD people… they know something that they’re not telling us. There’s something else in this desert that has them on edge. They’re… nervous. They grilled me about your research… and my own. And now they want us on the payroll?”

Jane Foster chewed her lip with the rumble of the pinz the only sound for the rest of the ride.

88888888

Thor carefully set down the box of plastic and metal contrivances on the steel table where Selvig directed.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll get the monitor, and then we can all finally get some rest.”

Thor nodded.

“Does your brother know what they did?”

Thor turned to find Jane Foster staring at him intently, her small hands braced on a white box. Her brows were furrowed. Darcy Lewis quieted in her kitchen rummaging, eavesdropping. He frowned.

“I did not share the details. He need never know.”

“But -”

“This is not the first time I endured captivity. And then, as now, my brother and my companions have won my freedom.”

“So… this is a normal day at the office for you?”

Thor understood office in a political sense and extrapolated her meaning. He nodded.

“But he has to deal with them.”

“Which is a normal day in his ‘office’,” Thor said. “Some do battle, others do tricks.”

Jane scowled, and Thor could read the reproach in the cast of features as clearly as he could read mother’s.

“But… maybe he _shouldn’t_ deal with them at all. He’s your brother. He has a right to know what they’ve done to you.”

“The truth is,” Thor searched for the right way to explain. “He is too sensitive to such realities.”

She tilted her head in question. “What?”

“When I was still fresh to battle, I ended up a prisoner in Nornheim. My brother, through tricks or persuasion, found me. Once I battled our way out, he noticed the burns. He inquired and I told him the uncensored truth of my travails.

“Once Loki knew, he practically wept. He expressed his regrets again and again. For not finding me sooner. For allowing it to happen at all. It was unbecoming of a Prince of Asgard.”

“Are you for real? He was concerned for you.”

“That is still no reason to carry on as a crying maid. I chose then and there to spare Loki such future embarrassment.”

Jane’s eyebrows lifted and she shook her head. She opened the box before her and with a sidelong glance she turned her focus to the contents. “Okay…” she breathed.

“Your brother is Loki?” Selvig asked, placing the retrieved item, a black box of sorts, on the far desk.”

“Yes.”

“Loki. The Norse God of Mischief.”

“He is simply Loki Odinson,” Thor said. “Prince of Asgard. Though I suppose mischief can be considered his favorite diversions.”

“Riiiight,” Lady Darcy drawled with a nose crinkling grin. She bobbed her head. “The slick dude that talked us out of jail. Where’s he at?”

“He has returned to Asgard,” Thor supplied. “To rule.”

Perhaps, if he said it out loud it would make sense. Darcy popped open her packet of Pop-Tarts. Strawberry. She called them classic.

“Right! It’s weird to think of you guys as space princes. Do you guys always travel Star Trek style?”

Thor did not know what to say to that. “If you are referring to the Bifrost… that is simply how we travel between Realms.”

Darcy smiled, more receptive than the agents. “So just a day trip, huh? Too bad. I should thank him. I don’t think I could have made it another day on that freeze dried food.” She took a greedy mouthful of confection and plopped herself into one of the yellow chairs, curling her legs under her.

“He’ll be back,” Jane said. She leafed through the pages and photos in the box and let out a loud relieved sigh. “Oh, thank goodness they’re all here…” she added absently.

“He will?” Thor asked. Loki indicated no such thing. Though, he also did not properly say farewell, either.

“Yeah, he promised. Which reminds me. I’ve gotta make a list. I need to get all the equipment sorted if I hope to actually record the Bifrost…” She scrambled through the papers and then suddenly paused. She lifted a picture up and began to walk towards him.

“Hey, do you think he’ll know anything about these?” Jane asked, showing him the photo of bright familiar stars. “We saw them through the Bifrost the night you… arrived.”

Thor knew those stars. The tales behind their clusters, of their births and deaths were not etched into his heart and mind, but he knew their yawning swing like he knew the trajectory of the shadows in the training yard.

“My brother has long studied the stars and ley lines of Asgard. The walls of his chambers are lined from floor to ceiling with shelves and scroll cases that catalogue his musings.”

Jane Foster’s eyes widened and she grinned, biting her lower lip. The worry lines in Erik Selvig’s face seemed to deepen, and Jane returned to the boxes with a bounce in her step and a renewed fervor, opening a second and rummaging about. She pulled out a little black journal, grabbing a pen from a jar on the desk and began to leaf through the pages.

“Did he indicate as to when?”

“When. When. When, when, when…” She seemed stuck on the word, chanting absently, more interested in the notes she made.

“Jane?”

She paused in her scribbling, snapping the journal shut. “Sorry!” She grinned. “I don’t know when actually. I should have nailed that down before -”

“They beamed him up?” Darcy supplied. She bit off a mouthful of the white speckled pastry.

Jane huffed a little laugh. “Yeah. Who knew that was actually a thing.”

88888888

Thor could not sleep.

He stepped out into the cool desert air, staring up into the dead sky. Asgard lay somewhere beyond. Out of reach.

Thor needed to lift Mjolnir.

He needed to know what fate awaited his friends. How could Loki even consider punishing their own friends? Their intentions had only been the well-being of their friend and true king. And yet their act of love vexed Loki to no end.

Sif. Heimdall. The Warriors Three. They only ever acted for the benefit of Asgard.  Their motives were pure and true. Thor needed to find a way home. They deserved absolution. Perhaps mother would temper the acting king’s illogical wrath.

An owl hooted off in the distance and the soft popping and hissing of fire could be heard on the breeze. A hint of wood smoke carried over and Thor felt his heart tighten with the warm scent that echoed of home.

He found her up on the roof. A fire crackled in a large brass bowl. Jane sat hunched on a metal and plastic chair covered in floral cushions. Her hair and features looked bronzed in warm light.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” she answered. She smiled and gathered her blanket around her shoulders more tightly.

Thor drew closer. “May I ask you something?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Why did Loki request you shelter me?”

Jane considered the question a moment. A smile spread into place, brightening her features in the firelight. “I offered, actually.”

“You did?”

“You seem like a nice enough guy, and I, I just needed to chase this lead. I just had to take a chance. Have you ever done that?”

“Often.” He looked up at the cold blackness.

“You can’t sleep?” she asked.

“I worry,” he admitted. “For my friends, my home, my brother. All my responsibilities are now his burden to bear. What about you, Jane Foster? Why do you linger here?”

“I come up here sometimes when I need to think, when I can’t reconcile particle data, or have a meeting with a virtual “god” looming within the week.”

Her eyes were wide and gleaming. Her lips stretched into a taut, giddy smile.

Jane stared up the sky. Stars weakly pin pointed the atmosphere, an inky loch compared to the splendor of Asgard’s shimmering nebula. Yet she saw wonder there. “I have so many questions,” she breathed.

“This is very important to you.”

She blushed, allowing her gaze to drop down at her hands.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

He thought she had nothing more to add, until she stared him in the eye and said; “I was always right. I should have known when we found you. I should have trusted my gut. I always felt like…” She waved her hands, like she could grasp the word with her fingers. “Like I was moments away from the discovery of something _incredible_. I _felt_ so close. And now I’m right there on the threshold. I just need to put this truth into words. And Loki… I just have this feeling,” she rested her hand over her heart. “I just _know_ that he has the pieces I need to really get off the ground.”

“You’re nearly there,” Thor agreed. “I told you that you would get all the answers you sought if you would help me.”

Thor sat beside her.

“Can I repay your kindness by sharing some of what I know?”

He reached for her notebook and with a nod she handed it over. He opened it, leafing through the pages and stopped at a sketch that struck familiar.

“Ah, a Bifrost knot? It’s… very accurate.”

She nodded, blushing again, soft as a rose petal, and smiled.He turned to a blank page.

“May I?” he asked, motioning to her pen.

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

He began to the sketch the Realms and their placements within the branches, as best he could remember, leading from one point to another in space.

“You know,” she said, after a few quiet moments of only the scraping of pen on paper and the snapping of the fire. “When I was haggling to convince your brother to help me he said you’d be able to answer my questions.”

Thor smiled. Once, he and Sif found Loki reclined beneath the blossoms of an apple tree, sketching in one of his journals.

A drawing of Yggdrasil.

It was perfect, to Thor’s eyes, in the technical aspect. The Realms looked to be in their proper places in relation to Midgard. He could admit now that it had been beautiful. Scrawling and intricate and his brother worked his magic into each ink stroke, seeming to shimmer and flow with the light. Impractical compared to the might and abilities of Mjolnir but beautiful nonetheless.

“Will you braid flowers in your hair next?” Thor asked in jest.

Loki snapped the journal closed with a roll of his eyes and absconded from the meadow. They chortled at his backside.

Thor pushed the thought from his mind. Was this not the same thing? Was this also a waste of time in the grand total of all things? He glanced at Jane Foster, and the wonder in her eyes helped him decide that it did not matter. Not really. Not at this moment.

“You see -- your ancestors called it magic. You call it science. Asgard is a place where they're one and the same thing.” Thor added the branches of Yggdrasil. Jane Foster watched, riveted.

**“** What is it?” Jane asked. She shifted closer.

**“** This is how my father explained it to me. Your world is one of the Nine Realms of the Cosmos, linked to each other by the branches of Yggdrasil, the Worlds Tree. So, Nine Realms...” he pointed to each in turn, naming them.Thor felt a twinge of guilt, lounging fireside indulging a pretty little mortal. He _needed_ to earn Mjolnir. Asgard needed _him_. Jane Foster looked at him with a nervous smile. Her eyes were warm and kind. Jane nodded, urging him to continue, and he smiled with her.

Perhaps this would not be so terrible. At least, for a while.


End file.
